


Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals

by Fayanora



Series: Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asperger Syndrome, Autism, Autistic Harry, Autistic Harry Potter, Black Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, F/M, Geeky, Gen, Good Slytherins, Harry Potter has autism, I can't stand writing abuse, NO abuse of any kind in this fic, Original Character(s), Original Female Characters - Freeform, Original Male Characters - Freeform, POC!potter, Past Child Abuse, Racebent, Transgender, luna introduced early, no more abuse than in canon anyway, there is NO child abuse in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3672438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fayanora/pseuds/Fayanora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Whinging

“Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals”

By = Fayanora

 

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.

POC!Harry, POC!Hermione

 

Author's note: Harry Potter is J.K. Rowling's work, not mine. I only wish I'd written it so I could be wealthier than the queen, but alas, such is not the case.

 

Year One: The Philosopher's stone

 

Chapter One: Little Whinging

 

Little Whinging, Surrey was what Americans would call the suburbs, inhabited by upper middle class people, most of them white, so boring and normal looking that all the nearly identical houses lacked was white picket fences. What was more, the residents of number 4 fit in well, one could even say abnormally well. Which, given that Petunia Dursley's sister (whom she kept secret) was anything but normal by the standards of the town, meant Petunia was probably overcompensating. Or maybe not. Be that as it may, the town didn't have a single abnormal bone in its metaphorical body.

So it was probably good that the most abnormal-looking man imaginable that appeared (at least by the poor imaginations of the neighborhood's residents) had come by dark of night. Looking like something out of a King Arthur movie, Professor Dumbledore magically made the area even darker with his silver, cigarette-lighter shaped Deluminator, and went over to number 4. When he got there, he was met by a cat.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. “Fancy seeing you here, Minerva.”

The cat changed into a rather austere woman, whose expression was of shock. “How did you--”

“--know it was you? Yes, well, I did read the Animagus registry after all. And even if I had not, you were far stiffer than any cat I have ever seen.”

“You'd be stiff too if you were sitting on a brick wall all day.”

“What, no parties for you on this frabjuous day?”

“Frabjuous?”

“Pardon me, I have been reading books by the muggle author Lewis Carroll, and I rather forgot you would not get the reference.”

Professor McGonagall blinked at him. “Anyway, Albus,” she said, recovering her composure, “is it true about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Yes, he really does seem to be gone. I do think he may return, but for now his power is broken.”

“And Lily and James?”

Dumbledore hung his head, his eyes behind their half-moon spectacles watering. “Both dead, I am sad to say.”

Her voice cracking with emotion, Minerva struggled to speak more. “And Harry?”

“It appears he did indeed somehow manage to survive the killing curse Voldemort aimed at him. How, we may never know.”

“All those people he killed, Albus, and he couldn't kill a little boy?” Dumbledore did not know what to say to that, so he decided to treat it as a rhetorical question and ignore it. Anyway, McGonagall was struggling to cry silently. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder for emotional support, but continued to say nothing.

When she once more regained composure, McGonagall asked, “So... so where _is_ Harry? Is he with you?”

“Oh no, no no no. Harry is with Hagrid.”

“Do you think that wise? Hagrid--”

“Has my complete confidence. I would trust him with my life.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but the silent night was suddenly assaulted by the roaring of a motorcycle engine. The motorcycle generating the sound soon crashed onto its wheels from the sky; given the enormous size of the man riding it, no doubt magic prevented it from breaking apart under him.

“What the devil? Hagrid? Where did you get that motorbike?”

Hagrid turned off the bike and walked over to the two Hogwarts teachers. “Young Sirius Black lent it ter me, ter get young Harry here.”

“Is that him?” McGonagall asked. “The Potters have been in hiding so long, I don't think I've ever seen him before.”

She looked into the basket and saw a small black boy with bright green eyes and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, which was lighter in color than the rest of his skin.

“Yes,” she said, “I know he's only a baby, but I can see James in him. And of course, Lily's eyes. Yes, that has to be Harry.”

“Aye, Professor McGonagall ma'am, tha's Harry alrigh. I seen him meself tha day he was born, long with Sirius an' Peter an' Remus.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, and a magical scar forever marking him. I wonder if it will be as useful to him as the one I have, of the London Underground.”

McGonagall looked at Dumbledore with an expression of confusion, but said nothing.

“Well,” Dumbledore said with a sigh, “give Harry to me, Hagrid, so we can leave him here.”

McGonagall blanched. “Here? Albus, you cannot seriously think of leaving him  _here_ , with these... these  _people_ . They're horrible! Worse muggles I doubt I've ever seen. And that bratty son of theirs was kicking his mother down the street, screaming for lollies. Harry Potter, come to live  _here_ ?”

“I have set up old magic here that will protect him for as long as he can call the place home. I have corresponded with Petunia in the past, and thus I have no doubt she will care for the boy. He is, after all, her sister's son.”

“Dumbledore, I don't think--”

“It is already done, Minerva. I am an excellent judge of character, I do know what I am doing. It may not be an ideal life, but he will be fine, I am certain.”

Though she still had her doubts, Professor McGonagall did not argue further. Dumbledore got out the letter for Petunia, putting it in the basket next to Harry, and Hagrid gave the small black boy a very whiskery kiss goodbye, before bawling his eyes out. While McGonagall shushed him, Dumbledore set Harry's basket down on the stoop. McGonagall noticed this and frowned.

“You're not leaving him out in the open, are you, Dumbledore? I mean to say, anybody could snatch him up. Or he might catch a cold or worse.”

“Relax, Minerva. Along with the old magic I told you of, I have placed a warming charm on the blankets, and I will be casting a spell that will keep him hidden from all eyes but ours and Petunia's until she lifts the basket up. He will be fine.”

“Well, it just seems odd to me, you going to all that work to protect him and then just leaving him on the stoop like a set of milk bottles.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Do you think me incapable of protecting him? Or unwilling to protect him?”

The austere woman looked uncertain. “Well, no. Of course not.”

“Then trust that he will be fine.”

She still looked uncertain.

“If it would put you at ease, Minerva, you could continue to stay here as a cat, and watch over him until the morning?”

She considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I think I will do that, Albus.”

“It's settled, then. Until later, Minerva.”

McGonagall nodded back, morphed once more into a cat, and retook her previous position on the wall, while Hagrid flew off on that noisy motorcycle, and Dumbledore returned the lights from his Deluminator, then disappeared with a small pop.

And so Harry lay in his warm basket, not knowing he was famous, not knowing that he and Professor McGonagall would soon be shocked awake by Petunia Dursley screaming like she'd been murdered when she found him on the doorstep, not knowing that a very tired McGonagall would reluctantly leave him to be pinched and prodded by his cousin Dudley, unwittingly leaving him to a life of abuse and neglect.

 

 

Chapter Two: Snakes and Ladders

 

Years later, Harry woke up to his cousin Dudley stomping on the stairs over his cupboard, having been interrupted from a very good dream. “Wake up, Potter! Wake up!”

Automatically, Harry came out and began making breakfast, as his aunt and uncle had insisted he cook for them since he was three years old. He quickly shut down memories of standing on a stepladder - crying as hot grease from the bacon burned his young skin, and went about his duties. It was Dudley's birthday, and he knew from painful experience that the slightest mistake would cost him dearly. Despite this, he did get brave enough to carefully pour the remaining bacon grease onto his plate after he was done, and put his toast on top of it, so he could get some protein for the day in the form of grease-soaked toast, since he wasn't allowed butter or jam. And since the Dursleys would not let him stay in the house unsupervised, he was looking forward to spending time with Mrs. Figg, the batty old cat-obsessed neighbor that was his occasional sitter. The smell of all those cats was difficult on his senses, but Mrs. Figg had a soft spot for him, and always fed him well whenever he was over, so he could endure the smell for her.

This was rather saying a lot more, for Harry, than it would of your typical boy. For the 10 year old black boy had an especially keen sense of smell. So keen that Petunia would call him a liar if he let slip that the smell of her flowers when she had a window open was giving him a headache, and Vernon – his uncle – would occasionally wallop him, to “give [him] something to have a  _real_ headache for.” But by now, Harry had gotten used to both his nose and his ears causing him headaches from excessive stimuli, and had taken to wandering far away from number 4 to earn money doing chores for other people whenever he could get away, just so he could buy pain reliever, which he hid in a hole in the wall inside his cupboard under the stairs, a hole he plugged with a piece of drywall he'd bought with some of his earnings.

Sitting down to eat with the others, Harry had to ensure his very loud cousin assaulting his ears with his fervent present unwrapping, and then his spoiled whines when he got fewer presents than last year, a tactic calculated to guilt trip his parents into getting him extra presents. Harry may not like his cousin very much, and Dudley may not be very book smart, but he was clever enough when he put his mind to it. The trouble was, he rarely put his cleverness to anything good.

The telephone rang, and Petunia got it. Shortly thereafter, she said, “It's no good, Vernon; Mrs. Figg is ill, she can't take him.”

“No! He can't come,” Dudley fake-wailed. “He r-ruins everyth-thing!”

Harry's stomach fell. As much as he hated the smell of her house, he liked Mrs. Figg a lot. “I could always take care of her. I wouldn't mind bringing her chicken soup, or bringing her a hot water bottle, or whatever.”

“And have you tracking home whatever damn bug she's caught, and getting Dudders sick,” Uncle Vernon growled at him. “I don't bloody think so.”

“Okay, then you could always let me stay here. I could stay in my cupboard and read.”

Vernon glared at Harry in a familiar way, a sneering way. It was part outrage over the thought of Harry staying behind, and part disdain for Harry's habit of reading.

“Reading,” Vernon sneered. “Like any  _normal_ boy reads for enjoyment. But you're not normal, are you boy? Of course not. Ugly, no-good, worthless... just like your horrible father. Why your damned mother had to marry someone... someone like  _him_ , I'll never understand.”

Harry ignored this rant; it was as familiar to him as Vernon's belt was to his backside. It was unpopular to be openly racist, so of course his uncle could not go right out and say what was really on his mind; he had to talk around it.

“And comb your hair!” he barked at Harry. Harry ignored this, too. Everyone present knew very well that nothing short of expensive hair treatment in a salon would have any hope of taming his wild hair. And the one time they'd given in and tried it, it hadn't worked. His aunt had even shaved him bald once – a style that looked horrible on him, no matter  _what_ his uncle said, and it had grown back by the next morning. The whipping he'd received for that still made him wince to think about.

“Vernon, what are we going to do with him?”

“What? Oh yes, thought you could change the subject, did you, boy? Well no siree. You are  _not_ staying here, either. I will not come home to the house destroyed, no I will not.”

“Well what about your sister?” Aunt Petunia asked him.

“Don't be ridiculous, Marge hates the boy more than we do. No, he'll have to come with us.”

Dudley, of course, did not like this one bit, and began to fake-cry and scream again. But the doorbell rang, which shut him up at once, because Dudley's friend Piers Polkiss was at the door, to join them in the trip to the zoo.

As Harry walked to the car, he stomach felt like it had snakes crawling through it. This was too good to be true; there was no way he was going to get to the zoo without something very bad happening. Predictably, Vernon gave him a stern lecture about 'no funny stuff' during the trip before letting him into the car. Harry wasn't stupid, he knew something was different about him other than being black and being mentally... he stopped himself from saying Vernon's favorite word, 'abnormal,' and instead thought  _mentally divergent_ , a word he had read in a book many weeks ago. It was a good word, a nice way of saying he wasn't like most boys. But there was more, of course; weird happenings centered around him that his aunt and uncle knew something about, something they were keeping a secret. What exactly that was, he wasn't sure. But he'd read an X-Men comic once, and ever since then he thought he might be a mutant. He knew it was a work of fiction, but it was the only explanation that made sense to him, for some of the weird things that had happened to him growing up.

The zoo trip was good, better than anything he'd had in his whole 10 years of life. He got a lemon ice lolly when the lady at the ice cream shop had asked him what he wanted before the Dursleys could get away, and when Dudley had a fit over his Knickerbocker Glory being too small, Harry got to finish it after Dudley got a replacement. And the whole time, the snakes in his belly grew more and more agitated. This was all going to go wrong somehow, it was just a matter of time. Knowing this, he could not relax. He had to remain vigilant, so he could spot the danger and prevent it.

When they got to the reptile house, Harry went away from the Dursleys and Piers so as to avoid trouble. Nervously looking around, he walked right up to a gigantic boa constrictor that Dudley had already gotten bored with. He barely noticed the snake, but it noticed him.

“You look scared,” it said, quite clearly in English. This did not help Harry's nerves, and he frantically looked around to see if anyone else had heard. Even when he saw that they hadn't, he barely calmed down at all.  _I cannot have a snake talking to me right now,_ he thought.

To his horror, he realized he had actually said that aloud. But again, nobody noticed.

“You understand me?”

Harry sighed, resting his head against the glass. If this was the other shoe dropping, he might as well earn it.

“Yes, it seems I do. Not sure how, though. Maybe I'm a mutant.”

“I don't know what that means.”

“It means-- no, never mind. It's too hard to explain. Anyway, where are you from?”

The snake jerked its head, directing Harry's eyes to the sign.  _Boa Constrictor, Brazil._

Resigned to the inevitable, Harry asked in a tone that was a little hysterically amused, “Was it nice there?”

The snake jerked its head again.  _Bred in captivity._

“Ah,” Harry said. “Well, we have something in common, then. I never knew my parents.”

“Is that unusual with your species?” the snake asked.

“Yeah, it is. You see--”

“DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! YOU'LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT THIS SNAKE IS DOING!” That shout was all the warning Harry had before Piers and Dudley shoved him out of the way. He felt a surge of anger as he glared at them, then did a double-take as the glass disappeared and the snake slithered out.

It was absolute bedlam. Everyone was screaming and running around, except for Harry, who was in shock. The snake slithered up to him and said, “Thanks, mate. I'm going to see if I can get to Brazil. Wish me luck!”

“Uh... good luck,” he said after the snake. Then the snakes in his belly turned to ice as he felt his uncle glaring at him knowingly.

_That's it,_ Harry thought.  _I'm dead. He's going to murder me at last._

 

~

 

Vernon did not murder his nephew, but it was a close thing. Once they were safely home, the man was too angry to do more than lock Harry in his cupboard, but the next morning after breakfast, he summoned Harry to the living room and whipped Harry as hard as he could with the leather of his spare belt. Harry silently bore the punishment, even though it only angered his uncle more, because he refused to give Dudley any more ammunition against him than the spoiled brat already had.

What was far harder to deal with was being locked in his cupboard until the start of the summer holidays, and given even fewer meals than usual. It was a situation that called for a skill Harry had learned from a library book years ago. Using an old hairpin, Harry picked the lock on his cupboard door and snuck out in the dead of night to pick a few things out of the fridge that nobody would miss, especially given how much Dudley ate. Harry would say Dudley ate Harry's weight in food every day, but honestly, it was more like Dudley ate his  _own_ weight in food every day.

He chided himself silently for picking on Dudley for his weight. Dudley may pig out shamelessly, but there were lots of people who were overweight for reasons they had no control of. It was far more satisfying, anyway, to pick on Dudley for being a spoiled rotten waste of air.

Once he was let out of his cupboard, he immediately left the house to go to the library. Some of the books he'd gotten out were months overdue because of the snake incident, and he dreaded having to pay the fines. To his astonishment, though, the librarian took pity on him and waived the fines. He tried to pay her what little he had in his pockets, but she refused to take it. He decided, on balance, to not check any more books out, just in case he got in trouble again. Instead, he spent as much time as possible reading in the library.

Weeks later, while Aunt Petunia was dyeing some of Dudley's old clothes gray for what she  _claimed_ was the uniform at Harry's new school, Stonewall High, the mail came, and he was forced to get it. When he picked it up, he saw a strange letter written in glittering green ink, addressed to him. It even had his cupboard on it. Whatever it was, he knew if any of the Dursleys saw it, they would confiscate it from him and likely destroy it. Thinking quickly, he shoved it into his sock and handed the rest of the mail to his uncle. Then he went into his cupboard for his coat and left the house, heading for the library.

Harry loved the library not only because he loved reading and learning, but also because Dudley would never be caught dead in a library. In his favorite secluded corner, Harry retrieved the letter from his sock, opened it carefully, and read it. He had to re-read it several times to be sure it really said what it did. Even then, the had to put it down and think.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” he whispered to himself. A school of magic. Did this mean he was a wizard? Did this mean all the weird stuff in his life – his hair growing back overnight, finding himself on a roof somehow, the incredible shrinking sweater, talking with a snake, disappearing glass, and more – was magic? Could it be? He thought back to the day of the snake incident, to what he'd said as he desperately tried to explain himself to his uncle. He had said “it was like magic,” and his uncle had nearly blown a gasket, shouting “there's no such thing as magic!” Almost like... he was trying to convince himself, as much as convince Harry?

But Magic was impossible, wasn't it? Still, he'd known something was unusual about him; he'd known for a long time. Was magic any more unbelievable than being a mutant?  _Could_ it really be magic? Or was this a practical joke? But who did he know who would bother with something like this, or had the brains to think of something this clever? No, hard as it was to believe, he believed. Or at least, he believed enough to decide to write back. He had no idea how to write back, but he reasoned that since it had come in the post, maybe the post office would take it. He would have to buy a stamp, though, even though there was no stamp on the letter.

The letter had been sent by Professor M. McGonagall, so he decided to address the letter to her. Pausing long enough to buy an envelope from one of the librarians, he went back to his corner and tried to think what to write. After long deliberation, he began.

 

_Dear Professor M. McGonagall,_

 

_I was astonished by your letter, and honestly I am having difficulty believing it's real, but things have happened in my life that convince me you are being honest. I have a great many questions, but I have to start by saying that I don't think my aunt and uncle will let me come to Hogwarts. They hate magic and they hate me, and they are opposed to anything that would make me anything less than miserable. It was only from quick thinking that I was able to hide your letter to read it, I am certain they would have burned it if they'd found it first._

 

_Also, I have no money, except what little I manage to secretly earn to pay for medication for headaches I'm prone to, so I would frankly be astonished if they paid my tuition, or paid for any of the things your letter say I'll need. So that's another obstacle to my coming. But if there is any way possible for me to come, I would love to get away from these people and come to Hogwarts._

 

_Oh, and I don't think it would be wise to send me a reply in the post. The odds are high my aunt or uncle or even my cousin would get to it before I did, and doubtless burn it. What's more, if they found that I had hidden this first letter and sent you a reply, I know they would punish me, and I've only recently stopped being punished for the last weird thing that happened, in which I accidentally set a boa constrictor loose in the local zoo by accidentally making the glass vanish without a trace._

 

_I have no good suggestions for how you should respond to this letter, unless by some chance you were willing to drop by, but if you do, you should be ready to defend yourself; my uncle gets very violent when he gets angry. He has a little more self control around adults than around me, but I don't know by how much._

 

_Hoping to hear from you soon,_

_Harry Potter_

 

Harry re-read the letter a few times to make sure he liked it. When he was satisfied, he started on the envelope, and was immediately stumped. The return address on the letter didn't even say what country Hogwarts was in; for all he knew, it was in China. So, thinking the whole time that this was a poorly thought out system, and that people who knew nothing of this Hogwarts ought to be sent a person to explain rather than a letter in the post, he just wrote “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” as the address. It felt silly to him; even Santa Claus had a better address than this school did.

He left the library and went to the post office, bought a single stamp, and dropped it in the box, hoping it wasn't a joke, hoping the letter would get through somehow, and wondering what would happen if it really were real and not an elaborate prank by person or persons unknown. And so it was that he spent the rest of the day lost in thought, nearly earning himself another whipping when he almost burned dinner, and later fell into a fitful sleep.

 

~

 

The next day seemed normal when Harry woke up, and his doubts tripled. He tried to push them down, though, and focus on his cooking. He wondered how long it would take the letter to reach Hogwarts, assuming it wasn't a bad dream or a trick. What he had not expected was for the doorbell to ring after breakfast, soon followed by Uncle Vernon roaring in rage and fear. Harry ran toward the sound of his uncle's anger, against every survival instinct he had, to see what was the matter. He found a very angry woman with black hair in a tight bun and an austere appearance waving what looked like a twig at Uncle Vernon like it was a weapon, and shouting at him to calm himself. Vernon – who would normally have been shoving her out the door by now – was regarding the twig like it was a gun pointed at his face, and backed off, letting the austere woman come into the house and close the door behind herself.

He regarded this woman with confusion. Figuring out that the twig must actually be a wand, he figured this must be a Hogwarts representative. But aside from the wand and her age, she didn't look like a witch to Harry. She was dressed in a black dress that looked a bit old fashioned, but was clearly not a... well, he didn't actually know what to call the clothing witches tended to wear in TV and movies. Robes, perhaps? No, this was clearly a dress. A dress from the turn of the century perhaps, but still a dress and not robes or a cloak or whatever.

“Ah, there you are Mister Potter. Yes, you look just like your father; Arabella wasn't lying, then. Not that I thought she was, but... oh yes, and your mother's eyes. Lily's eyes...”

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia shouted, running into the room at last. “Vernon, what is...” she trailed off, staring blankly at the woman. Then she noticed the wand, and shrunk back. “WHO ARE YOU?” she demanded of the woman, “AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?”

The austere woman regarded his aunt with a frown over her glasses. “I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are Petunia Dursley, I presume?”

“YOU'RE NOT WELCOME HERE,” Vernon shouted, his face turning puce. “LEAVE AT ONCE, YOU ARE TRESPASSING ON PRIVATE PROPERTY!”

“I will do no such thing. You let me into your house of your own accord.”

His uncle's face turned an even darker shade of puce. “UNDER THREAT OF INJURY!”

“Yes,” the woman said with derision. “Do you really wish to explain to a muggle policeman why you felt threatened by an elderly woman wielding a small piece of wood?”

Vernon opened his mouth to speak, but had no rebuttal. So Harry spoke instead, filling the silence.

“Muggle?”

“It is what we in the wizarding world call those who have no magic, at least the ones that do not live in the wizarding world.”

“There are non-magic people who live in your world? Why?”

“They are called squibs. Born to magical parents, they have no magic. The opposite of a muggle-born witch or wizard.”

“SHUT YOUR--” Vernon began, but Professor McGonagall wordlessly cast a spell on him that made his voice vanish, which she then did to Petunia as the horse-faced woman began to scream. This hadn't really helped matters, though, as the two were now gesticulating madly and trying to attack the professor, who had to keep them at bay with some other spell from her wand.

“WILL YOU TWO STOP BEHAVING LIKE A PAIR OF BABBOONS, OR AM I GOING TO HAVE TO MAKE YOUR SILENCE PERMANENT?”

At this, the two Dursleys blanched, but stopped moving, save to back away from the professor.

“Good heavens, I am getting too old for this kind of nonsense,” she said to herself. Then she turned to the Dursleys and said, “Please sit down, we have things to discuss. And if you refuse to sit down, then I shall turn you into rats.”

Terrified by the prospect of being something so dirty and disgusting as a rat, Petunia quickly sat down in the nearest chair, and Vernon followed suit, sitting in another chair. Harry and Professor McGonagall sat down across from them.

“Good. Now--”

She was interrupted this time by a knock on the door, a knock that rattled the house.

“Oh for goodness sake, Hagrid,” the professor shouted at the door as she got up to open it, “please do try to be more careful. I do not want to have to repair their home if I can help it.”

“Sorry bout tha, Professor,” said a very large voice from the door as an even larger man came inside. He was so vast that he had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.

“Oh, it's fine, Hagrid. I didn't mean to snap at you, it's just these muggles are the worst I've ever met in thirty-five years of this job. Oh here, let me conjure you something to sit on in there, Hagrid. You'll never get in here unless I shrunk you.”

“Tha's okay, Professor. I can stand.”

But the older woman insisted on conjuring the giant man a chair, and so Harry saw his first proof of magic.

“It's REAL! Magic is REAL?”

The two new faces stared at him, agog, for a moment. Then Hagrid got angry and faced his aunt and uncle as best as he could from the entryway. “YEH MEAN TER TELL ME HE ENT EVEN BEEN TOLD NUTHIN BOUT OUR WORLD? HARRY JAMES POTTER, MOS' FAMOUS PERSON IN OUR WORLD, AN' HE'S NEVER BEEN TOLD ABOUT MAGIC?”

“Of course we didn't tell him,” Petunia snapped, surprised to find her voice returned. “My dratted sister being what she was. We swore, when we took him in, we'd put a stop to all that dangerous nonsense. And yet here you are anyway, breaking into our home, threatening us--”

“YEH THINK YEH BEEN THREATENED SO FAR DURSLEY, YEH'VE NO IDEA WHAT--”

“Hagrid, do please calm yourself!”

Hagrid's face was covered by his big shaggy beard, but his eyes looked abashed. “Sorry, Professor McGonagall.”

“It's quite alright, Hagrid, just try to remain calm.”

“Wait,” said Harry, rubbing his head. “Wait, I'm trying to think. But so much noise, I can't... god, my head...”

“A headache, Mister Potter? Like the ones you mentioned in your reply?”

“WHAT? Am I to understand, boy, that you've been writing these freaks?”

“And no doubt hiding his... his dratted acceptance letter from us too, Vernon.”

“Here, Mister Potter, Poppy – our school nurse – gave me a few vials of a headache cure after I showed her your letter. Drink one up, it will get rid of the pain.”

Harry took the proffered potion and drank it up. Now that he had seen proof of magic, he trusted this woman. Hard as it was for him to trust adults, he trusted her anyway for some reason.

“Thanks, that's better.”

“YOU NEVER ANSWERED US, BOY! DON'T THINK YOU CAN--”

“SHUT UP, DURSLEY, YOU GREAT PRUNE! DON'T MAKE ME COME OER THERE AN' INTRODUCE YEH TO YOUR OWN--”

“HAGRID! Calm yourself!”

Hagrid muttered an apology, glaring darkly at the Dursleys. Harry wondered, suddenly, where Dudley was in all this. Then he spotted his cousin far away, hiding but still watching the scene unfold.

“Anyway,” Harry said. “So, I don't know where to start. Wait, no, I do. You said I look like my dad?”

“Yeah,” Hagrid said before McGonagall could answer. “Yeah, now yeh mention it, yeh do look zactly like yer dad. But yeh got yer mum's eyes.” His own began to water, tears rolling down his beard.

“So you two knew my parents?”

McGonagall nodded, her own eyes tearing up. “Y-yes, Mister Potter. I've been teaching in Hogwarts since 1956. I taught your mother and father when they were in school. And Hagrid here has been keeper of the keys and grounds at Hogwarts for 49 years, so he knew them as well.”

“An a better witch an wizard I ent never known. Kind, yer mum was. And yer dad, too, in 'is own way. Bit of a prankster, yer dad. Sad it was, when You-Know-'Oo kill--”

“I FORBID YOU TO SPEAK,” his uncle bellowed.

“I'D LIKE TER SEE YEH TRY AN STOP ME!”

Harry was confused and angry. He rounded on his aunt and uncle and shouted, “YOU TOLD ME MY PARENTS DIED IN A CAR CRASH!”

Hagrid stood up and left a divot in the ceiling with his head. “A CAR CRASH!? A CAR CRASH KILL LILY AN JAMES POTTER!? IT'S AN OUTRAGE! A SCANDAL! I'VE 'ALF A MIN' TER TIE YER LIMBS INTO A--”

“HAGRID!”

Hagrid, apparently, was too incensed to do more than growl. And Harry was starting to feel angry himself, from what he'd heard. But more pressing was his curiosity.

“Murdered? My parents were murdered? By who?”

Both Hogwarts representatives looked discomfited. McGonagall spoke first. “Well, Mister Potter, you see... just like muggles,” she gave the Dursleys a glower, “not all witches and wizards are good. Some go bad. The wizard who murdered your parents was the most powerful evil sorcerer in over 100 years. I don't know his real name, but he went by a pseudonym which is infamous; so infamous that, well... even though the war has been over for almost 11 years, most of us are still too terrified to speak that name. But, well, let me write it out for you.” She summoned a quill, ink, and parchment from nowhere, eliciting squeaks of fear from the Dursleys, wrote something on it, and handed it to him.

“Voldemort?” The reaction this name elicited in the two Hogwarts representatives was even more pronounced than the Dursley's reaction to the word 'magic.' Hagrid jumped so much in fear that the chair he was sitting on got flattened, and the house shook. And Professor McGonagall, her hand to her chest, looked like she was in danger of having a heart attack.

“Yes, that... that is correct, Mister Potter. Now if you please, I beg you not to say the name again.”

“Alright, I'll try.”

“Anyway, this... this He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he went to your house on Halloween, and... and killed Lily and James. Then he tried to kill you, but for some reason that nobody knows, he couldn't. Scores of powerful witches and wizards he murdered, maybe even hundreds, and you, just a baby boy, somehow survived.”

Harry didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, just looked pensive.

“Yeah,” continued Hagrid from McGonagall, “an yer house blew up an all, too. Fished yeh outta the wreckage meself, an brought yeh here on Dumbledore's orders.”

Harry glared at these words. “Dumbledore is the reason I ended up here? Here with these people who hate me, who beat me, who don't feed me enough?”

Both of them had the decency to look very uncomfortable, at least.

“Er... Harry, yeh see... well I guess Dumbledore – an I can hardly believe I'm sayin this, but... I guess he misjudged yer aunt and uncle. I guess even Dumbledore can make mistakes. He swore up an down yeh'd be safe here, that the Dursleys would care fer ya like a son...” Hagrid stopped talking upon seeing the expression crossing Harry's face.

“Well they sure as--” he stopped himself saying something rude. “They didn't. Dudley is far from malnourished. Dudley has no burn scars, or scars from being whipped till he bled. Dudley isn't treated like a slave or worse. Dudley isn't hated so much that the word 'hatred' hardly seems strong enough.”

McGonagall looked shocked. She looked like the news was making her ill. Then she looked murderous. With deadly quiet, she said, “Harry, I promise you... I don't know what exactly I will do, but these... these  _monsters_ will pay for their crimes. I shall have you see Poppy after the Sorting, she can take a record of the abuse, that will be the first step. But please don't be angry with Professor Dumbledore; even I never would have dreamed anything like this would happen. I guess we're both too trusting, him and I.”

There was almost a whole minute of silence, before it was rudely broken.

“If you think I'm going to pay for some crackpot old fool to teach him magic tricks, I--” Vernon's surprise rant ended when Hagrid nearly put his head through the roof, and McGonagall pointed her wand at Vernon's heart, murder in her eyes.

“I warn you, Mister Dursley, if you insult Albus Dumbledore again, you will both live out your remaining days as seats in a very filthy public toilet. You would deserve far worse.”

At this, Vernon got very small, and both him and his wife turned a very sickly looking pale.

“HA! Couldn't 'ave said it better meself, Professor.”

“See, it's like I told you in my letter,” Harry said, pushing his feelings back down in order to charge ahead. “I haven't the money to go, and they're not going to let me.”

“Mister Potter, the laws of our world – of the wizarding world, I mean – clearly state that young witches and wizards must receive a magical education, to control their gifts. As you age, your power will only grow, and power without control could end up coming out very dangerously. There's no telling what could happen if you don't learn that control,” she said, pointedly looking at the Dursleys. “You could end up blowing the house up, or worse. Anyway, you do not have to go to Hogwarts for this education, as there are other schools, such as Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, both on the European mainland. But you need to go  _somewhere_ to learn, and as Hogwarts has accepted you, if you wish to go, legally nobody can stop you from going.”

“And besides which, yeh've--”

“Hush, Hagrid,” she said, giving him a significant look. He looked perplexed for a moment. Then, understanding lit up his face and he nodded.

“Anyway, as I was about to say, there is a fund for students who cannot afford tuition and supplies. Since your guardians will not pay your way, the fund can pay your way through all seven years of your education.”

“Oh. Well that's one hurdle overcome, I guess,” he said. He looked at the Dursleys, then back at McGonagall. “But how will I get there? I doubt these two will take me.”

“I will have Hagrid here collect you on the first of September, if you wish to go. He will be authorized to get you to Hogwarts in any way that does not violate wizarding law. Well, except for magic.”

“Er, yeah,” Hagrid said. “Strictly speakin, I'm not allowed ter do magic. But nothin short of a dragon or a manticore could stop me gettin' yeh ter school, an yeh can bet on tha'.”

“Why aren't you allowed to do magic?”

“Er, Professor, have yeh told 'im bout Platform 9 and ¾ yet?”

“Platform WHAT?” exclaimed Mr. Dursley.

“Never you min', Dursley. Ent noneyer bin'niss.”

“Yes, good idea, Hagrid. At King's Cross Station, there will be what appears to be a blank wall between platforms 9 and 10. You run at it, with your eyes closed if it helps, and it will transport you to platform 9 and ¾.”

“Hold on, let me write that down,” he said, scribbling it down on a piece of spare paper.

“At any rate, Hagrid will also take you to Diagon Alley today to get your school supplies.”

“Today?”

“Yes, it's still plenty early enough. Hagrid, Albus gave me a pair of portkeys to give you for the trip. They both activate by a countdown from 3 while you're holding them in your hand.” She handed him a filthy rubber duck and a crushed McDonald's cup, to Harry's confusion. Hagrid took them and put them in his pocket.

“Understood, Professor McGonagall.”

“As for me, I will be returning home to have a nice long soak in a warm bath. It has been years since I had a day as stressful as this one. Well, Mister Potter, I shall see you on the first of September.”

“See you,” Harry said back.

Professor McGonagall stood up, got out her wand, turned on the spot, and disappeared with a loud CRACK that startled the Dursleys onto the floor.

“Harry, come over 'ere an put a hand on this,” he said, holding out one end of the crushed drink cup. Perplexed, Harry nonetheless did as instructed.

“Good, good. Ready? Good. Now three, two, one!”

Harry felt a jerk behind his navel, and the sensation of wind rushing past him for about 10 or 15 seconds, then fell over sideways into a table that hadn't been there before, knocking someone's beer over.

“Oy, watch it!”

“S-sorry,” Harry said. But the man had barely finished his exclamation before diving out of the way, barely missing getting crushed by Hagrid's immense form, which crushed the table instead.

The man passed out from terror, and a toothless, wizened old man came over and helped Hagrid up, then pointed a wand at the table and repaired it magically.

“Wh-where are we?”

“You're in the leaky cauldron,” the toothless old man said, pointing his wand at the passed-out man, waking him. “Next time, Hagrid, don't portkey into my pub?”

“Sorry bout that, Tom. Professor McGonagall forgot ter mention where tha portkey went ter.” He regarded the other one with great wariness. “Sure hope this 'un don't take us inter your house later, or somebody might hafter fish us outta the wreckage.” He put it back for now, and started to head toward the back of the pub, when a man in a purple turban came up to Harry.

“P-p-p-p-potter. P-p-p-p-pleased t-t-to m-m-meet you. I'm P-p-p-p-professor Quirrel.”

He shook the man's hand as Hagrid explained that Quirrel was the Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher. And then Tom the barman made an exclamation about Harry, and suddenly every witch and wizard in the place was swarming him, trying to get a handshake or a word from him. And despite the headache cure McGonagall had given him, he felt it returning.

“Hagrid. T-too many p-people. Can we get out of here?”

“Okay, evryone, tha's quite enough. Poor lad's gettin' a headache, and we've got ter get his school things. BACK, I say!”

Tom, despite having started the ruckus, helped Hagrid calm it down, and Hagrid led Harry out the back to a brick wall.

“Here, Harry; before we go in, I got another headache potion for yeh. Poppy gave me a bunch, too, an told me how ter use em. Yeh can have up ter four in an hour, but best ter not do any more. She said it could make em worse past that point.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” he said, taking the potion and feeling relief speeding to his head. “Do you happen to know if there's any risk of drug interaction if I were to take my ibuprofen after that point?”

“Er, no idea, sorry. I don't know nothin bout muggle med'cine, an Poppy dinnit say nuffin bout it. Anyway, yeh better enough ter watch?”

“Yes.”

Hagrid nodded approvingly, then showed Harry how to open the entryway to Diagon Alley with a pink umbrella that Harry suspected was really a wand. He tapped a certain brick in the wall, and a hole opened up smoothly and quickly into an archway before them.

What lay before him was a wonder to behold, and he took a moment to feel the awe before going in. It was a good thing, too; after just a couple minutes, he began finding it harder and harder to enjoy Diagon Alley. There were lots of familiar sounds – animal screeches, bangs, cracks, and pops – that startled him ever few seconds, making his heart race and his airway constrict. He tried calming himself, but it was difficult; a difficulty made worse by the equally overwhelming visual noise. Without his glasses, he was probably legally blind, but that didn't mean his vision couldn't still be overwhelmed. It was all making him sick, and he had to lean against a wall, cover his ears, and shut his eyes to block it all out, and it still wasn't enough.

“Oy, them Dursleys really did a number on-- oh, sorry. I'll shush up.” Hagrid waited patiently, looking with great concern at Harry for several minutes, before saying, “Er... d'ya want me ter give yeh a piggyback ride?”

Harry looked up at Hagrid, thinking. They had things to do, and if he was stuck here trying to cope with the noise...

“Yes, please.”

Riding on Hagrid's shoulders helped, though he had to look into the sky to cut down on the visual noise. Before going to Gringott's, Hagrid stopped by at a small shop that sold earmuffs with a silencing charm on them. He put them over Harry's ears; Harry looked foolish wearing earmuffs in July, but he quickly recovered almost fully with the absolute silence that the earmuffs afforded him. At another shop, Hagrid added a pair of extra-dark sunglasses to Harry's sensory-coping arsenal. That done, they finally headed toward the giant white stone building that was the wizarding bank, Gringott's.

Harry took the sunglasses and earmuffs off inside, just to test the waters. The bank was busy, but much,  _much_ quieter than outside had been.

“Young Harry Potter wishes ter make a withdrawral,” Hagrid told one of the goblins. Harry tried to get a good look at the goblin without staring; he had no wish to be rude.

“And does young Harry Potter have his key?”

“Aye, got it right here. Oh, and there's something else as well. Important Hogwarts bin'niss.” Hagrid handed the goblin a very secretive looking piece of parchment, then whispered, “It's about the you-know-what in vault you-know-which.”

Harry supposed Hagrid thought Harry couldn't hear him, but with Harry's hearing being what it was, Hagrid might as well have been using his normal voice; the whisper was just as clear.

“Very well,” said the goblin. “Griphook!”

Another goblin, much younger than the first, grabbed a lantern and led them into a cart like the mine carts in old shows about the American 'wild west.'

“Hang on ter yer valubles, Harry, an yeh might want ter close yer eyes, this is gonna be a rough ride. Even I get sick on these damned carts.”

Harry nodded, and closed his eyes just in time for the cart to go whizzing off at breakneck speed, twisting and turning this way and that. Hagrid sounded very ill, but managed to keep his food in. Harry was not so lucky, managing to hold it in just long enough for the cart to jerk to a stop before tossing his breakfast over into the abyss below.

Luckily, the goblin patiently gave Harry a couple minutes to find his land legs again, and staggered over to the vault door. It was only then that he registered something that had been said earlier. “Wait, did you say I had a key? Where are we, Hagrid?”

The goblin answered instead. “Vault 687, held in trust for Harry James Potter, by his parents, Lily and James Potter.”

“My parents had a vault here?”

“Yes,” Griphook replied. “Very old wizarding family, the Potters. They go back all the way to the Peverells at least.”

Harry had no idea what that meant, so he just nodded. He watched the goblin place a small golden key into a lock and turn it, opening the vault door. Then he looked in, and began to gibber. Before his eyes was an enormous pile of gold, and smaller piles of silver and bronze. This was more money than he could ever have imagined. There was no way the Dursleys knew of this, and he wasn't going to tell them, ever; they would steal it from him, even if it meant coming into the wizarding world to do it.

“How... how much?”

“I don't know the exact figure off the top of my head, Mister Potter, but I would estimate at least fifteen million galleons. It is quite a large vault.”

“How much is that in pounds sterling?”

“At the current exchange rate, a galleon is worth about five pounds. A sickle is worth about 30 pence, and a knut is one pence.”

“I'm a millionaire?”

“Yes, Mister Potter,” Griphook said with a grin, “you are. Happy early birthday, Mister Potter.”

“From dirt poor to independently wealthy in less than a day. Wow.”

Using the information Griphook had given him, Harry took out 60 galleons, 100 sickles, and 25 knuts and put it in his bag. Then he asked the goblin, “You mentioned an exchange rate, so I take it that means I could exchange some of this for pounds?”

“Yes, Mister Potter. You can exchange money with any of the tellers upstairs.”

He nodded and got back into the cart. He and Hagrid then endured another ride to a deeper vault, vault 713. Harry barely had the presence of mind to pay attention to Griphook opening that door, but caught a glimpse inside. The only thing in that vault was a grubby little package, which Hagrid collected. He wondered what could be that valuable, that it would have its very own vault all the way down here.

“Er, don't mention this ter anybody, Harry; it's secret stuff. Come ter think on it, maybe I shouldn't have gotten it with you around.”

“Don't worry, Hagrid, your secret's safe with me.”

Apparently his word was good enough for Hagrid, and so he had a moment of cheerfulness before they had to endure the trip back up. By this point, Harry had nothing left in his stomach, so he was dry heaving over the side. They quickly got out, and as soon as the both of them got their land legs back, they went to the teller, where Harry got gave the goblin 4 galleons and some sickles, and got about 20 quid in muggle money in exchange. Then he put his earmuffs back on, but Hagrid was too woozy to trust himself to carry Harry, so instead, they went hand in hand to the Leaky Cauldron to get some soup and pumpkin juice for Harry, and an enormous tankard of ale for Hagrid.

“Drinking on the job?” Harry teased.

“Aye, jes a lil pick-me-up. Don' worry, I'm so big I'd haf ter drink at leas' four times this to even start ter get tipsy.” He drank half of it in one gulp before continuing, “Sides which, if I never got ter drink on the job, I wouldn't get ter drink very often.”

 

When they finished their meal and felt human again, Harry put his earmuffs on and braved Diagon Alley with Hagrid again. He found, with the earmuffs on, that the visual noise was tolerable, and so with relative ease they went all over the place, getting books, a cauldron, potions supplies, and more. Finally, the last thing was a wand.

“Listen, I'm gonna get yeh a birthday present. I know it's a bit early, but I won't be able to come round again til the first o' September. Don't look at me like that; I don't spect yeh've ever had a birthday present before with them Dursleys. It's me own money, an I want ter get yeh somfin. I know, I'll get yeh an owl. Dead useful they are, carry yer mail an all. Yeah, you get yer wand 'ere an I'll be back before three shake of a bowtruckle.”

Hagrid, humming happily, wandered off to find Harry an owl, and Harry went into Ollivander's and looked around.

“Hello?” he called out experimentally.

Suddenly, a pale-eyed old man rolled into view on a ladder. “Ah, Mister Potter, I wondered when I would meet you. Oh, and here's another customer, too. First come first serve, miss... uh, miss...”

“Granger, sir. Hermione Granger. And these are my parents,” said a black girl, her hair even wilder and bigger and bushier than his own, grinning back at her mother and father, both of whom were also black.

“Hmm, Granger, eh? Any relation to Hector Dagworth-Granger?”

“Doubtful, sir. I'm muggleborn.”

“Ah yes, good good. Well anyway, Miss Granger, Mister Potter was here first, so I shall tend to him first.”

She nodded, and the three of them sat down. Mister Ollivander began measuring him with a measuring tape that was moving of its own accord, while he looked through boxes. What followed was 15 minutes of trying one wand after another without luck. Instead of being frustrated by this as Harry was, Mr. Ollivander got more excited with every failed wand. Finally, though, he paused at one wand and said, “I wonder,” before picking it up and handing it to Harry to try. Harry swished the wand like all the others, not expecting anything to happen, and was pleasantly surprised to find it created sparks.

“Wonderful, wonderful! Here, let's get you paid up, and I'll box that up for you. After all, students are not allowed to do magic except in Hogwarts, at least until they come of age.”

As he took Harry's money, he muttered to himself. “Curious, very curious...”

“Sorry, but what's curious?”

Olivander eyes the Grangers briefly, then cast some sort of spell wandlessly.

“There, silencing charm. Now they can't hear us. What is curious, Mr. Potter, is that the phoenix whose tail feather comprises your wand's core gave only one other feather. Wands choose their wizards, Mr. Potter, so it is curious that you should be fated to this wand, when it's brother gave you that scar.

“Ah,” Harry said, feeling ill. “Are you sure they can't hear us?”

“I would not tell you something so grave and private if I thought there was any risk of another overhearing us, Mr. Potter; on that, you have my word.”

Swallowing a hard lump in his throat, Harry took his wand and moved away from the register. Hagrid still wasn't back yet, so Harry waited while Hermione got her wand. It only took Ollivander five tries to find her a wand. Where Harry's was made of holly wood with a phoenix feather core, Hermione's was vine wood and dragon heartstring.

Hagrid finally showed up, tapping the window gently to show he couldn't come in. He was holding a lovely snowy owl in a bronze-colored cage.

“Oooh, what a lovely owl,” Hermione exclaimed. “Oh mum, can I get an owl too?”

“No, dear, not this year anyway. Your father and I will think about it.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Hermione.”

“You too, Harry. See you on the train, I hope.”

Harry waved goodbye, put his earmuffs back on, and left with Hagrid. Before long, they were taking the rubber-duck portkey back. To both their relief, the portkey took them to a sheltered part of the Dursley's back yard. To their consternation, however, this startled Petunia, who was gardening, and she screamed, running into the house in terror.

Hagrid did not go right away. During their soup earlier, Harry had mentioned his cupboard under the stairs, so the giant man was going to have a few words with the Dursley's. Before he left, Harry was able to move all his things into Dudley's spare bedroom. With Hagrid's help, they cleared out all of Dudley's rubbish and chucked it in the bin, which caused a whole new ruckus. Eventually, though, Hagrid terrified the Dursleys into submission, and Harry watched Hagrid reuse the first portkey and vanish into thin air. Already, Harry began to count down the days til September the first.

 


	2. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets away from the Dursleys.
> 
> (Actually chapter 3, since 1 and 2 were in the first posting. Confusing, I know.)

"Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals"

By = Fayanora

 

Note: I don't own the Potterverse, this is fan fiction and no money is made from it.

 

Chapter 3: Freedom

 

Harry barricaded the door of his new bedroom after Hagrid left, fearful of his uncle getting retribution on him. Luckily, his uncle didn't come into his room that night; he was probably terrified of Harry, but Harry didn't know how long that would keep the man away, especially since they'd known all along he had magic. To try to take his mind off his worries, he opened his History of Magic textbook and began to read it. He found a name for his owl there, calling her Hedwig.

He was about to go to bed when an owl tapped on the window. He opened it and took the letter from its leg. It was from Professor McGonagall.

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

 

_The incident today, and the things you told me, have been weighing on my mind all day long, and so I talked with Dumbledore about it. He then looked into what he could do. He is still investigating long-term solutions, but he agreed with me that your relatives cannot be trusted with your safety. I have sent this owl to warn you that I will be dropping by tonight, to relocate you to a place called The Burrow, where the Weasley family will keep you for the remainder of the summer holidays. They are well known and trusted, and are very warm and loving people. See you soon._

 

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall_

 

He had barely finished reading the letter when the doorbell rang, soon followed by his uncle bellowing.

“Who the BLOODY HELL is calling at this hour of the night?”

Harry stayed in his new room, not wanting to be anywhere near his uncle while this was happening. He did listen at the door, however, and heard the door slam open, his uncle begin to speak, and then fall dumb. Finally being curious enough to risk coming out of his room, he hung around at the top of the stairs.

"What are _you_ back for? And at this late hour of the night, no less? Do you have any idea what TIME it is? No, I suppose you don't; your lot don't---"

"MISTER Dursley, IF you would be so kind as to _shut up_ for a minute and let me in so I can explain, I would gladly do that. Unless you'd rather we wake up the whole neighborhood?"

Harry could not see his uncle from where he stood, but could hear the grinding of teeth, and could almost swear he heard the pounding of the vein in his uncle's temple. But he must have seen the wisdom in this, and reluctantly let McGonagall in, closing the door behind her.

"Thank you. Now, I'm sorry to be here so late at night, but after the appalling spectacle you put on earlier, and after some of the things Harry said, I had a talk with Professor Dumbledore, the Hogwarts headmaster, and he quite agrees with me that it is unsafe for Harry here, at least for the time being. We have not made any permanent changes to the arrangements, and we're not even sure if we will or not. Dumbledore explained to me that he set up blood wards that protect Harry from You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters while he lives in this house, but if you have been mistreating him anywhere near as bad as--"

"We haven't done anything to the boy that he didn't deserve! Young hooligan, he should thank his lucky stars we haven't sent him to Saint Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal B--"

Harry peered down to see why Vernon had suddenly gone quiet, save for some whimpering, and saw that McGonagall was pointing her wand at his nose.

"That boy has not deserved any of the treatment you have given him. He is malnourished, was living in a _cupboard under your staircase_ until Hagrid forced you to move him to a proper bedroom, he has been worked like a slave and treated like dirt by you and your whole family. And after I explained all that to Dumbledore, he was so upset with you that I am quite surprised he did not send you a Howler, which would have been a very rude awakening for you indeed. Right now the only thing standing between the Ministry turning you in to the Muggle authorities for child neglect and abuse are the blood wards I mentioned, and a thorough examination by a trained Healer for evidence. And if we can figure out a protection for Harry that does not involve the three of you being in charge of his welfare, you and your wife will go to prison.”

"HOW--"

"NO, not a single word, Mr. Dursley! You and your wife have let your anti-wizard bigotry and your... your... anti-Black racism - a ridiculous reason to hate someone, by the way - and have used it as an excuse to mistreat a relative of yours, a _child_ who should have been loved and cared for. Frankly, on top of child abuse, you ought to also be charged with illegal slavery, as well.

"For the meantime, however, we are taking Harry off your hands for the remainder of the summer. A very nice wizarding family has volunteered to care for him until he can go to Hogwarts. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, both very loyal to Dumbledore. So, Harry, why don't you pack your things, so we can leave this miserable lot to their own devices for now."

"Oh, uh... yes, sure. Be right back!"

It didn't take long; he hadn't actually unpacked his school things yet, so all he had to do was add his few other meager possessions to his trunk, and then drag the heavy trunk to the top of the stairs. When McGonagall saw how much trouble it was giving him, she charmed the trunk to float down the stairs.

"Um... thanks, Professor."

"It's no trouble, Mr. Potter."

"So how are we leaving, Professor?"

"Professor Dumbledore gave me a portkey," she said, pulling a battered looking teddy bear with a missing eye from her robes. Harry looked at it curiously.

"I'm unsure how good of a choice this one was, but it won't be a portkey once we get to the Burrow. Anyway, just let me send your trunk and owl along first." She pointed her wand at his trunk with Hedwig in her cage atop it, and they vanished with a small pop.

"Now, hold the bear with me."

He took the bear's leg, Vernon staring at the two of them like they were mad. "And three, two, one..."

Harry felt a jerk behind his navel and a rushing of wind as he and Professor McGonagall flew through a swirly, blurry space, then he landed hard on his bottom in grass, and the world re-formed around him. Straightening his glasses, he looked behind McGonagall and saw a tremendously tall house that looked like it had been a barn once before being added to again and again. It looked like it only remained standing because of magic. Which, he mused, was probably true.

"Welcome to the Burrow, home of the Weasley family. It's in a village called Ottery Saint Catchpole. By the way, Potter, your glasses have seen better days. May I...?"

"Um... may you what, Professor?"

"Repair them for you, of course."

"Oh, okay."

He was about to take them off and hand them to her when she pointed her wand at them and said "Oculus reparo."

The tape holding his glasses together vanished, but they stayed in place; his glasses had been repaired.

"Thanks. Hey, do you know if magic can correct eyesight?"

She blinked at him significantly. He wasn't great shakes at figuring out facial expressions, but he did notice she was wearing glasses.

"Oh. I take it that's a no."

"Not as yet, Mister Potter."

"Why not?”

"Hmm... well I don't know why we haven't figured it out yet, but maybe if you can figure out how to do it, you could make a name for yourself. Well, one you'd properly earned, rather than by accident of fate. Anyway, we need to get up to the Burrow."

Nobody was awake at the Burrow, with the exception of a plump, kindly woman with flaming red hair, and an apron hastily flung over her nightgown. "Professor McGonagall, how nice to see you again," the kindly woman beamed, holding her arms out. The two women hugged, which struck Harry as a little odd for the severe, rigid Professor McGonagall to do.

"Likewise, Molly."

"Ah, and this must be young Harry." She glanced briefly at the lightning-shaped scar on his head, pretending hastily she hadn't done so. Then she clucked disapprovingly. "You're skinny as a rail dear, what _have_ those horrible people been feeding you, birdseed?"

"So I take it Dumbledore explained the situation to you, Molly?"

"Yes, he did. I hope you throw the book at those people, Minerva. And I hope it's a very large and heavy book at that. Have a safe trip back, Minerva. Anyway, Harry m'dear, I have some stew on the fire for you, leftover from earlier tonight."

"W-what? No no, that's okay. I ate earlier at the Leaky Cauldron, with Hagrid."

"Yes, dear, but that was _hours_ ago," she said, taking his hand and pulling him gently along to the house. "You're a growing boy, you need food to fuel that growth."

"I don't want to be a burden," Harry said, practically whispering.

"Oh now don't talk like that, it's no trouble at all. Minerva may not have told you, but I have a very large family, so one more mouth won't be any bother at all. And anyway, even if it was, I'd manage. We Weasleys always do. Anything to help out a child in need."

Harry looked back as they got to the porch, and saw McGonagall disappear with a pop from where she had been standing, then looked forward again just in time to avoid tripping over the stoop. Not long after that, he was sitting at a large and battered table, and a bowl full of thick, beefy stew was flying through the air to land in front of him, a spoon quickly following it. It was only then that he realized Mrs. Weasley had been right; he _was_ hungry. So with no other thought beyond that, he began to dig in.

"Anyway, Harry, I guess we weren't properly introduced," Mrs. Weasley said, sitting across from him. "But I'm Molly Weasley."

"Thanks for getting me away from the Dursleys."

"No problem, dear. I don't know _what_ Dumbledore was thinking, putting you with those people, but at least he's now starting to see sense. I hope he won't be making you go back. I'll hex him myself before I let that happen. Anyway, in Dumbledore's letter he told me to tell you that Minerva will be back tomorrow to take you to Saint Mungo's to get looked at."

"Saint Mungo's?"

"Ah yes, you were raised by Muggles. Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, it's the local wizarding hospital. Their Healers will examine you for evidence of child abuse and neglect. Then it will be up to Dumbledore and McGonagall to figure out what to do with that evidence. And, I suppose, what to do with you over the summer. I hope they'll let you come here."

"McGonagall said there are blood wards at the Dursley's that protect me from the Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters? But You-Know-Who is gone, and most of his followers are in prison or abroad."

"Most?"

"Yes, well, a few of them escaped prison by claiming they'd been controlled. Problem is, there's a lot of people who were legitimately being controlled by You-Know-Who, but it's nearly impossible to tell who's lying and who's telling the truth. Anyway, you don't need to worry about them, they haven't made any trouble for 11 years, they're not about to start now. Eat, Harry, you-- oh, you're done? Well you're probably tired now. I'd normally put you in with Ron, but he's asleep right now, and I want to introduce the two of you before I put you with him. So just for tonight, I'll transfigure the sofa for you."

"You'll... what now?"

"Just you follow me and watch," she said. So he followed her into the living room, where she pointed her wand at the sofa, and it stretched out into a bed. With a couple flicks of her wand, she summoned sheets, a pillow, and a comforter from a cupboard and made the bed magically. She even summoned privacy curtains to go around it.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

She smiled warmly at him. "You're welcome, Harry." She tucked him in, and he felt more loved than he could ever remember, even though she'd only just met him. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 

* - *

 

The smell of cooking woke him up, which was a novel experience for him. Usually Aunt Petunia's shrill voice woke him up, and cooking smells didn't start until he began cooking for the Dursleys. He sniffed as he opened his eyes, ignoring the blurriness of the world for the moment as he took in the smell of eggs, bacon, and toast. Then he looked around and saw what looked like a table, blurry as it was. He fumbled his hands on it for a while, looking for his glasses. He found them shortly, and put them on his face. As he did, he paused, his mind reeling from the sudden realization that in just three days, he'd gone from downtrodden abuse victim to finding out he was a wizard and living in a house where he was treated like a human being instead of a work horse.

A few minutes later, he walked into the kitchen/dining room to see seven bright-red heads around the table. He recognized Mrs. Weasley, and he thought the balding man might be Mr. Weasley, but he didn't know anyone else.

"Oh Harry, you're up. Everyone, this is Harry, he's our guest for the rest of the summer,” said Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, looking up curiously. "Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, dad, it is! See his scar!" one of two male twins said excitedly.

"Now Fred, don't be rude. He's a guest, not a museum exhibit."

" _I'm_ Fred! He's George! Honestly woman, you call yourself our mother."

"Oh, sorry Fred."

"Ha! Only joking, I am George!"

"Oh now, stop that you too. Anyway, Harry, one of these two idiots is Fred, the other is George."

A younger boy, nearly as tall as the twins, waved at him. "I'm Ron. The one staring at you like a deer in wandlight is Ginny, my little sister."

"Hi Ron, Ginny. Fred, George."

An older boy, looking very serious, stood up and held a hand out to Harry pompously. "Welcome to the Burrow, Harry Potter. My name is Percy Weasley. How do you do?"

The others rolling their eyes at Percy, Harry took his hand and shook it. "Um, quite well. And you?"

"Oh yes, quite well indeed. Honor to meet you at last, of course."

"Likewise," said Harry, not knowing what else to say.

"Sit down, dear, and have some bacon and eggs," Mrs. Weasley said.

He did as she asked; he was practically starving, after all. After he'd eaten for a few minutes, Mr. Weasley said, "So, raised by Muggles, right? Muggles are fascinating. Tell me, Harry, do you know how an aeroplane stays in the air?"

"Oh come now, Arthur, he's 11, how's he supposed to--"

"Through a process called lift. Muggle scientists figured it out. The wings of the plane move the air in such a way that there's a vacuum above the wings, and wind swirls below the wing, pushing it up into the vacuum. And that's how huge metal devices can be supported by nothing more than air. Something similar happens with bird wings, but it's a slightly different process, since they flap their wings."

Everyone had gone quiet, looking rather impressed.

"Wow, Harry," one of the twins said, "you've got quite a brain on you. You'll probably be a Ravenclaw, brains like that. The teachers will love you."

"Except Snape, of course, but he hates everyone," said the other twin.

Harry shrugged. "My aunt, uncle, and cousin hate me, as in 'they truly despise me.' Dudley made sure I had no friends. My only friends were books. My uncle wouldn't let me get a library card, so I had to read everything in the library, but that didn't really do more than slow me down a little."

"Weh, iv oo wuv buks--"

"RONALD! Don't talk with your mouth full!"

Ron swallowed loudly, then said, "If you love books, Harry, you'll love Hogwarts. I hear they've got an enormous library."

"Yeah, and Flourish and Blotts, the biggest bookstore in Diagon Alley."

Harry beamed. "Yeah, I've been to Flourish and Blotts, with Hagrid. It was amazing! And since I discovered my parents left me... uh, some money, I bought a few extra. It was a great feeling, I'd never had money before then."

Ron balked. "What, none at all?"

"The Dursleys never let me have any."

Ron looked incredulous. "Wow, mate. I mean, we're not exactly... having a lot of money ourselves, but even I get pocket money to spend now and then."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, well, there's a lot I didn't have growing up. Heck, the only reason I have glasses is because I kept dropping things and bumping into stuff when they made me work, and eventually they figured out I _wasn't_ doing it on purpose. But I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Yes, and that's all well and good here, but later when Minerva takes you to Saint Mungo's, they're going to need you to talk about it with them."

Harry nodded. "I think I can talk with doctor about it."

“Doctor? You mean those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, Saint Mungo's uses Healers.”

Harry shrugged. “Either way...”

Everyone nodded, and regular breakfast conversation started up again. Harry tuned it out, though, getting lost in his own thoughts. He didn't speak again until after he was done eating.

"Mrs. Weasley, do you know when Professor McGonagall is supposed to come pick me up?"

"Oh, not until around 2pm, dear."

Harry looked at the battered wristwatch that had briefly been Dudley's before his cousin chucked it out the window saying he didn't like the color; it was 9 AM. He had five hours.

"May I go out and explore the village? I never got much opportunity to leave the house with the Dursleys always wanting me to do stuff."

"Hmm... what do you think, Arthur?"

"Well... Percy? Could you go with him? I'd feel better if you were watching him."

"As much as I would love to oblige, father, I'm not of age yet and so I'm not allowed to do magic outside of school."

"Yes, but if you were defending Harry's life, they'd let you off."

"Hmm... well, I have all my homework done, so I guess I can do that."

"Can I come too?" asked Ron.

"Yeah, we can come as well, if you like," said one of the twins.

"If it's okay with your parents, I don't mind."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley nodded. Mr. Weasley said, "The more, the better. More witnesses, if nothing else. But you all be back before 2, okay?"

"Right, mum, no problem."

A few minutes later, Harry and four of the Weasleys were walking to the village of Ottery Saint Catchpole, which wasn't very big and wasn't very interesting, but Harry was just glad to be able to have the freedom to be outside in the warm summer air. The whole time, Ron talked at him about Quidditch, and Hogwarts, and the wizarding world. The twins interjected now and then, but mostly it was Ron talking, which Harry was glad for. He didn't mind walking with the five Weasleys, but if all of them had been talking, he _would_ have minded very much.

Naturally, Harry found the village's tiny library. He was not impressed, but browsed the shelves anyway with mild interest. The others seemed much more impressed, though; they'd never thought to come here before, with the exception of the twins, who were browsing the non-fiction section for books about Muggle magic tricks.

"A lot of wizards don't value Muggle learning, but we do," said either Fred or George. Harry had a hard enough time telling the other Weasleys apart, and the twins were impossible for him to differentiate.

"Yeah, we learned how to pick locks, and other useful things, by coming here. After all, we're underage wizards, we can't magically open locks when we're home, so we had to learn the Muggle way, which got us interested in other stuff."

Though it didn't have much in the way of books, the library did have a small periodicals section, which included some science magazines that Harry read with enthusiasm. Even Ron managed to get interested in reading; he was reading Muggle children's books with expressions ranging from amusement to confusion to one of being impressed.

After about an hour, someone else came into the small library, a blond girl about a year younger than Harry, who had a far-off expression on her face and wore a painfully yellow dress. Her hair was a little messy, and she was barefoot up until she got to the door, at which point she took some sandals out of her bag and put them on, under the watchful glare of the librarian.

"Ah," Ron said, looking up. "Loony Lovegood."

"Ronald," Percy said reprovingly, "her name is Luna."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Don't poke fun, it's not nice."

Ron's ears went red. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be sorry, be nice. Anyway, is she a Muggle?"

"No, she's a witch. Well, her father is a wizard, and I think I saw her do accidental magic once," said Ron. "Anyway, she won't be going to Hogwarts til next year, if she gets her letter, which I think she will."

"And she lives in the village?"

"Outskirts, like we do; only, the other side of the village. I've never seen it before, though."

Harry put a bookmark in the magazine, set it aside, and walked over. Ron and the Weasleys were nice enough, and maybe they'd become friends, but they were... well... they were _neurotypical_ , a word he remembered from a book about Asperger's Syndrome, a condition he thought he had. And this girl, there was something different about her. He didn't know what, but he was drawn to her. Also, having never had friends before, now he could it made him a little... greedy? Yes, he was for friends.

He walked over to her and held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Harry."

The odd girl looked up at him with mild curiosity in her face, Her eyes flicked to his scar. "Hello, Harry," she said in a dreamy, far-off voice. "I'm Luna Lovegood. Is your surname Potter?"

"Yes, it is."

"Ah. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I didn't know you lived in town."

"I don't. I'm staying with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer."

"Ah, good. I like the Weasleys, they're nice. Ron judges me a little, but he mostly keeps it to himself."

"Yes, I noticed that as well."

"So you like reading Muggle books too, then? It's always good to see wizards take an interest in Muggle writing. They've accomplished so many amazing things without magic. Did you know they've even been to the moon? Or at least they say they have. Some Muggles aren't so sure it actually happened."

"Uh, yes, I knew that. I was raised by Muggles. We learned about the moon landing in school."

"Wow," said either Fred or George, having overheard. "Muggles have been to the moon?"

"I wonder what would happen if you put a werewolf on the moon?" asked the other one.

"Well," Harry said, "unless they had a spacesuit on, they'd probably die from lack of air before they had a chance to transform."

"Yes, but what if they had a spacesuit on? Would they change? Would they be _able_ to change, in the suit? Or would the suit rip and they'd die of lack of air?"

"No idea. Probably."

"My daddy thinks a werewolf on the moon would only change if they saw a full Earth in the sky. But he wouldn't want to try to find out, unless the werewolf volunteered. My daddy thinks lycanthropy should be treated like an illness, not like something dangerous. Werewolves are only dangerous during the full moon, after they've transformed. Now an umgubular slashkilter, those are dangerous all the time."

Harry stared at Luna, lost for words. Ron whispered in his ear, "Luna and her dad believe some weird things."

"No need to whisper, Ron," Luna said in her same dreamy voice, "I know what you're saying about me. But that's okay, I'm used to people talking about me behind my back. And even in front of me. I forgive you."

Ron looked embarrassed. His ears were red again, and he hung his head a little. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's alright. I know I'm unusual. But really, who isn't? And Harry's even more unusual than me, aren't you, Harry?"

"Um... am I?"

"Well you survived a killing curse from a very evil man, and your brain doesn't work the same way most other people's brains do, though those two things are not connected at all."

"Yeah, that's true. I tend to be mildly to moderately uncomfortable around other people. The Weasleys are nice, and I want to be friends with them and I think I will, but even they make me mildly uncomfortable. You don't, though. Something about you... you're the only person I've ever met that I think I could spend a lot of time with and not get my headaches."

"Really? Well that's nice of you to say. I wish I could go with you to Hogwarts this year, but sadly I'm not old enough yet. Next year, though. It will be nice to have friends before I even get there. I've never had friends before."

"Neither have I; my cousin wouldn't let me have any. Anyway, I'll write you when I get there. I have an owl now, named Hedwig. Do you... would you like to meet her?"

"That sounds wonderful. That is, if they Weasleys don't mind."

"Actually," Percy said, "I do think mother would be more comfortable if we went back. So yes, you may come with us, Luna. Harry, if you want to check out those magazines, get them on Fred or George's card."

Not long after that, they'd gotten their books and magazines checked out, and were walking back to the Burrow, Harry and Luna trailing behind. Luna was barefoot again, her eyes tracking something flying around them that only she could see.

"What are you looking at?" Harry asked.

"Oh, just a wrackspurt. I'm watching it in case it flies into one of our heads and makes our brains go fuzzy. Do you think that's weird?"

"No. Until recently, I didn't believe in magic, so who am I to say what does and doesn't exist? If I can have a conversation with a boa constrictor about Brazil, I don't see that wrackspurts would be any--"

"WHAT?" Ron shouted, whirling around. "What did you say?"

Harry frowned a little, a headache starting to threaten to manifest. "I said 'if I can have a conversation with a boa constrictor about Brazil'--"

"You can speak with snakes?"

"Well boa constrictors were snakes last I knew, so yes. Why?" Everyone was staring at him, even Luna. Admittedly, Luna was looking impressed, and everyone else was looking uncomfortable.

Percy spoke before Ron could. "Speaking with snakes is called parseltongue, Harry, and it is a rare gift. One that most wizards and witches associate with the dark arts."

"Oh that's silly," Luna said. "Snakes are just animals. Talking with them isn't a dark art. Animagi can speak with animals when they're in animal form. Just because Salazar Slytherin and the dark lord Vol--"

Everyone gasped. "--demort," she continued, "could speak with snakes doesn't make parseltongue a dark art."

"Well, I guess not," Percy said. "Harry doesn't strike me as being evil, at least. But still, Harry, you should keep that fact about yourself as secret as you can. A lot of people will judge you ill for it."

"And what about the rest of you?"

"What Percy said, mate," Fred or George said. "In fact, we think it's pretty cool."

Harry turned to Ron. Ron nodded. "A bit startling to hear someone just blurt it out like that, but I agree with Percy and Luna."

"Hmm... maybe I should get a pet snake, too?"

"You'd have to ask Professor McGonagall about it first. Only owls, cats, and toads are officially allowed at Hogwarts," said Percy. "I've seen a few other pets there, which were allowed. The official rules are in place merely so the school doesn't become a zoo or a menagerie. And also because some people have kept some very strange and even dangerous animals as pets, before."

"You mean like how Hagrid wishes he had a dragon?"

Percy nodded. "Yes, but even if Hogwarts rules allowed it, our laws forbid dragons being kept as pets. They're enormous, they breathe fire, and they cannot be tamed. It would be a serious breach of the International Statute of Secrecy. It's hard enough keeping Muggles ignorant of wild dragons in Britain and elsewhere without keeping them as pets in populated areas."

Harry's eyes went wide. "There are dragons in Britain?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "Common Welsch Green and Hebridean Blacks."

"Anyway, all,” Percy interrupted, “we're here now."

"Lunchtime!" Ron shouted, running ahead. Harry checked his watch; it was 12:45.

Lunch was sandwiches and crisps - home made by the look of it. Luna tried to politely decline a sandwich, but Mrs. Weasley insisted, so Luna insisted on "paying" for her meal with a free copy of her father's magazine, the Quibbler. Mrs. Weasley merely rolled her eyes and sighed, but Harry took the copy and read it while eating. He found it nearly impossible to believe anything written in it, but he did try to keep an open mind about it. And so, like nearly everything else he read, he remembered it all, no matter how absurd it was.

After lunch, Harry introduced Luna to Hedwig, whom Luna called a “gorgeous owl.” Luna gave Hedwig an owl treat, and she and Harry talked for several minutes.

Eventually they got tired of standing, so they sat down in the sitting room and Harry dug out his Potions textbook and began to read, to relax himself as he waited for McGonagall to show up. Ron kept looking oddly at Harry as Harry read his book while still managing to add to the conversation now and then, and so did the other Weasleys to a lesser degree, but Luna acted like it was perfectly normal. In fact, she was reading her own copy of the Quibbler in the same manner Harry was reading his Potions book.

"Why are you doing schoolwork before school's even started?"

"To you, this is just schoolwork. To me, it's a fascinating look at a world I've only recently become aware of. Plus, I've always liked the learning part of school, even if I hated the bullying and the not having friends."

 

At 2pm on the dot, Professor McGonagall showed up to take Harry to Saint Mungo's with her. Luna waved goodbye and said she'd stay at the Burrow at least until he got back.

Harry managed to keep a headache away during the trip to Saint Mungo's by immersing himself in the Potions book, but did look up now and then to see where he was going and watch for threats. Given his apparent history, he thought it prudent to begin working on ways to pay attention to his surroundings without letting them overwhelm him, and this was an important first step.

The Saint Mungo's building itself was outwardly very mundane, appearing to be the front of a shop that was closed for remodeling, with some dummies modeling boring clothing. He was only mildly surprised when one of the mummies moved slightly, letting them in. Then the noise and fuss in the lobby threatened to overwhelm him again, so he tuned it out and kept reading his Potions book, all through McGonagall's explanation of what they were there for, the brief wait, and then all the way to the room one of the Healer's assistants led them to.

The Healer's assistant had Harry put his book down to get his weight, and let him go back to his book once that was done and some questions answered. He was very glad this room was quiet. When the Healer came in, he put the book down.

"Let's see, Harry James Potter," said the Healer, a kindly looking blond woman in her early 30's. "Ten years old until July 31st, African heritage. Hmm..." she said a few other things he barely registered, then began the examination. It was much like the few times he'd been to the doctor, but the magical equivalent of an x-ray was done by wand, and there were magical devices he didn't understand taking readings he couldn't fathom.

When the physical exam was done, she asked him a lot of questions, including some of a nature he hoped nobody outside this room would ever know he'd been asked; even McGonagall looked uncomfortable. By the time the Healer finished, she had to give him a potion for the headache he'd gotten.

"You were right, Professor McGonagall," the Healer told her. "He has indeed been abused and neglected. The physical abuse isn't as bad as I'd feared, after what you and Dumbledore said, but still bad enough. And he's very malnourished; I could feel his ribs too easily, and he's much too short for his age. If you want to press charges, there's more than enough here to convict."

"Thank you," Professor McGonagall said. "Please hold onto it for now. We still haven't figured out what to do about his security arrangements, and until we do, we have to wait. I hope we do figure out something, because I don't think he's actually safe there."

"Yes, given what I've observed, and what you reported, Mr. Potter, I'm frankly astonished you've turned out as well as you seem to have done. I would recommend a return visit to see a mental health specialist, because you have a lot of symptoms that could be PTSD - hardly surprising. But there appear to be other things going on as well, that I'm not qualified to diagnose."

"Thank you very much, Healer Green."

Harry thanked the Healer too, and followed McGonagall out, his nose once more in his Potions book.

Later, when she dropped him back off at the Burrow, he made the effort to bid Luna farewell, made easier by her picking up on his distress and accommodating it. More difficult was getting Ron to understand he needed some time alone to recover, but the twins helped him out in that regard, taking Ron outside for some Quidditch while Harry - whose things had been moved into Ron's room - went up to his bed and switched from the Potions book to History of Magic. At this rate, he was going to be well on his way to the top of his class by the time he got to Hogwart's.

 

 

 

 

Note: I mostly abhor the movies, at least from the third one and later, and mostly dislike the use of movie canon in fanfics (as opposed to book canon), but "oculus reparo" is one part of movie canon I like, and there are a few other details from the movies I prefer.

 

 


	3. Hogwarts At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes to Hogwarts!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually chapter 4, because 1 and 2 were stuck together in the first posting. Sorry for any confusion.
> 
> First three/four chapters posted all on the same day because I have this crossposted at fanfiction.net. All caught up for now, as of April 3, 2015; currently working on chapter 5.

"Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals"

By = Fayanora

 

Note: A bit of harmless fanfic fun for no money, written by a fan who only WISHES she owned the Harry Potter rights.

 

Chapter 4: Hogwarts At Last

 

The rest of his month-plus time at the Burrow was pretty easy, a mix of socializing with the Weasleys or Luna, and hiding away in Ron's room to recharge. It was a little hard with the painfully orange colors of Ron's Quidditch team everywhere in that room, but if Harry read under the blankets with a magical torch he'd gotten for his birthday, he could manage it without a problem. The earmuffs occasionally helped too, whenever Fred and George started making loud bangs in their room.

On the day before he was to leave for Hogwart's, Harry carefully packed everything up and put it by Ron's door. Because of this, he was the first person ready to go in the morning, which gave him time to help Ron get ready, including finding Ron's pet rat Scabbers, who was sleeping in one of the kitchen cupboards, apparently after gorging himself on biscuits. It was difficult dealing with the panicky lateness of the Weasleys, but Harry managed it by putting his earmuffs on and reading his Transfiguration book. He had switched to that one because he realized History of Magic would be easy for him, and Transfiguration not as easy, so he wanted to get a head start.

They made it to platform 9 and 3/4ths with several minutes to spare, but still had to hurry to get their things aboard. Ginny hid behind Mrs. Weasley's skirts. During his short stay there, the only person who did not yet know Ginny had a crush on Harry was Harry himself, who was oblivious to such things.

Ron opened the door to the compartment where Harry was with relief. "There you are. Been looking for you. Ah, nose in a book again, why'm I not surprised?" Ron was grinning in amusement at his friend's swottiness. He closed the door behind him and sat down. "You're gonna be top of our year at this rate. Bet you could already do spells if you put your mind to it. You know we're allowed to do magic on the train, right?"

"Oh, that's good to know. I've been excited to try, now I have a chance." Harry put his book away and got out his wand. "What spell should I try?"

Ron shrugged. "No idea. Only spell I know is one to turn Scabbers yellow, but I don't think it's a real spell. Fred and George taught me."

"Did it work for them?"

"Well, they couldn't do it out of school any more than I could."

"Go ahead and try it."

"Okay. 'Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow.'"

Nothing happened.

"Ah well, like I said, probably not a real spell."

A round faced boy came into the compartment just then, out of breath and looking woebegone. "Have either of you seen a toad named Trevor? He's missing."

Harry looked at Ron, who shook his head. "Sorry, we haven't seen any toads."

"He keeps getting away from me," the boy moaned.

"Well do you have a cage for him?"

"A cage that would keep a toad in but not break and be a danger to him? No."

"I think I read somewhere that glass can be enchanted to be unbreakable."

"Really? Well I'll look into that later. Assuming I ever find him." The boy closed the door, calling for his pet toad.

"Do toads come when called?" Harry asked.

"Regular toads, no; but magical toads might. Dunno."

A plump woman came by pushing a trolley full of food. "Anything off the trolley dears?"

Intrigued by the unusual treats, Harry bought a little of everything and shared with Ron, who was pleasantly surprised by Harry's wealth and generosity.

"When you said you had money from your parents, you weren't kidding."

"You think that's impressive..." Harry started, trailing off.

"Go on," Ron prompted.

"Well... I don't want to sound like I'm bragging or anything. But there was... well, I won't have to worry about money until after I graduate, at least."

"Makes sense, I guess. I think your mum and dad were Aurors. Not sure, though."

"Aurors?"

"Dark wizard catchers."

"Sounds like a cool job."

"Yeah it is." Ron looked at a Chocolate Frog card he'd gotten. “Dumbledore again. You want him? You can start collecting.”

Harry took it, and read the card:

 

> _ALBUS DUMBLEDORE  
>  CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS_

> _ Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling. _

Harry was astonished that the photograph was moving, even more so when it left the frame to wander off. Ron assured him Dumbledore would be back later.

They were three-fourths the way through the huge pile of sweets when the compartment door opened and a bond boy with slicked-back hair and a smug expression came in, two thuggish cronies behind him. "I heard rumors Harry Potter was in here. So you're him, then?"

"Uh, yes." Harry held out his hand. "Harry Potter. And you?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," the boy said, shaking hands. Ron snorted with laughter, and Draco turned to glare at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No--"

"Don't be rude, Ron," Harry said, cutting off Draco.

"Yeah, _Weasley_ , don't be rude," Draco sneered.

"Draco," Harry said warningly. “Don't you be rude either, please.”

"What? You'd tell me not to be rude to a blood tr--"

"I had enough enemies in my old schools, I don't want any here. But Ron is my friend, and I expect you two to at least be civil to one another, if you want to be my friend too."

Draco and Ron both looked affronted, but Draco remained quiet and pensive, regarding Harry with immense curiosity. "Yes, of course," Draco said, his whole manner changing to one of refinement and politeness. "My apologies; in all the excitement of going to Hogwarts at last, I quite forgot my manners. Please accept my apologies. To... both of you."

"Apology accepted," Harry said.

Ron grunted. Harry and Draco both accepted this.

"Anyway, these here are my associates, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle."

"A pleasure," Harry said. "And this is my friend, Ronald Weasley. His family took me in for the last part of the summer."

Draco sat down next to Harry. There wasn't enough room for Crabbe and Goyle, at least not without Ron making a scene, so Draco had them remain standing. He then turned back to Harry, the strain of thinking before speaking obvious on his pale face. "You stayed with them? May I inquire why?"

Harry thought about it. "Well, I don't like my aunt and uncle very much, and the feeling is mutual. They're Muggles, and terrified of magic. Let's just leave it at that."

"I see. Well, since you were raised by Muggles, I doubt you've heard of my family before. We are very wealthy and have connections in the Minstry of Magic, if ever you need a favor. My father would be delighted to perform a favor for the famous Harry Potter."

"A generous offer. I'll keep it in mind. Please give your father my greetings."

"Of course. And... and give Mr. and Mrs. Weasley my greetings as well."

"I shall."

Ron scowled. Draco gave Ron a slight sneer when Harry wasn't looking.

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter. But I'm feeling a little peckish, so I'm going to go see if I can still get something off the trolley. Hope you're in Slytherin house with me, I could help you out much easier from there. Until later, Harry Potter."

"Likewise, Draco Malfoy."

Draco stood up and inclined his head at Harry. "Crabbe, Goyle, come." And with that, they left the compartment and closed the door behind them.

Ron got up and peeked through the door to watch them go. Once he was sure they were gone, he sat next to Harry (on Harry's other side so as to not get Malfoy cooties) and whispered, "What was that all about? Why are you being friendly with the Malfoys? His father was a Death Eater, one of the ones that avoided going to Azkaban."

"Azkaban?"

"It's the wizard prison for Britain and Ireland. Don't change the subject."

"It's like I said before, I've had enough enemies in my life already without making new ones."

"But he thinks Muggles, Muggle-borns, and blood traitors - people who like Muggles and Muggle-borns - are all scum. His family hates my family."

"Well maybe I can change their minds. I've been a victim of bigotry all my life, I refuse to just accept it here in the wizarding world, too. Even if it's futile, I'm going to fight bigotry. And making friends with people like Draco stands a better chance of changing his mind that declaring war on him would. He's just a kid, like us; he's just parroting his father's beliefs. But it's not too late to change his mind, you see?"

"I guess."

"You gonna be civil around him?"

Ron gritted his teeth, but nodded. "Yes, if he's civil with me."

Harry shrugged. "It'll do."

Just then, the door to their compartment opened again, startling them both. Harry recognized the new person as the black girl from Ollivander's; she was already dressed in her school robes. "Oh, hi Harry!" she exclaimed.

"Hi Hermione!"

"You two met already?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "We met in Ollivander's. Hermione... Granger, right?"

Hermione nodded. "Nice to see you again. Who's your friend?"

Ron held out his hand. "Ron Weasley."

She shook his hand, smiling. "Oh, I almost forgot, have either of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one."

"Oh," said Harry, "so that's his name? He was here earlier, ran off before we could make introductions. Like we told him, we haven't seen Trevor yet."

"Oh, okay. Hey, who were those three boys in here earlier? They looked an unpleasant lot."

"Draco Malfoy was the blonde. The other two were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. They were making introductions."

"Oh, well that's good. When I saw them, I was worried they were picking a fight or something." She looked at Ron. "Um... you have dirt on your nose, by the way. Right there. Ah, there, you got it. Anyway, I'm going to go help Neville some more. See you two later. Oh, and you should get changed, I have it on good authority we're almost there."

She left hurriedly, and Ron stared after her, bewildered. "Well that was an experience. But I reckon she's right, Harry, we should get changed. Even if she's wrong, it couldn't hurt."

Harry nodded, and so they got changed into their school robes and hats, the sky outside getting darker and darker. "Where _is_ Hogwarts, anyway?"

"Dunno. Somewhere in Scotland. But they keep the exact location a secret, with magic. I know the village of Hogsmeade is nearby, cuz that's where the train stops, at Hogsmeade Station."

Thinking again, Harry sat down and began going through his books. One of the books he'd gotten was called "Hogwarts, A History." He silently chided himself for not reading this book sooner.

He only got to read for 20 minutes before the train stopped and everyone began getting out. They left their things on the train as instructed, since their things would go up separately, and followed Hagrid to a whole bunch of boats on the great black lake. Harry found himself wondering why they didn't just take the carriages up, as the older students were doing, but then he saw why: this route gave them a spectacular view of the castle for several minutes before it took them inside through a special access.

Grateful they were on dry land again, he trudged up the stairs with the others to the entrance hall just outside the Great Hall. McGonagall came to talk with them before long, talking about how the school houses would be like their families. Then she escorted them in, to stand in line before the Sorting Hat.

The old hat sang a song about the four school Houses first, Harry hanging on every word. Ravenclaw sounded excellent to him, and Griffindor sounded okay. He wasn't so sure about Slytherin, but was withholding judgment for now. He had no real preference at the moment, tough; he just wanted to end up wherever one or more of his two friends were.

Since their names were farther up the list than his, they both got placed before him. Both Hermione and Ron ended up in Griffindor, so Harry began to hope for Griffindor, too. He could still be friends with them in any House, but it would be easier in Griffindor. Also, he wasn't sure Ron would forgive him if he ended up in Slytherin.

Finally, it was his turn. The whole school went silent when his name was called, and then the mutterings began, about "the famous Harry Potter." He ignored it all and stepped forward, sitting on the stool. The hat was placed on his head.

"Difficult, difficult," said a voice in his mind, from the hat. "Plenty of brains, I see. Good heart, lots of bravery. Loyal, too, and hard working. Oh, and a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?"

Harry wasn't bothered too much where he went, of course, though it would be nice to be with Ron or Hermione, so he'd have at least one friend in his House; he concentrated on that.

"Ah yes, friends are important, Potter. Especially to someone who's never had them before. But you know, Slytherin would be an excellent fit for you as well; you could meet your true friends there."

He pondered that. He wasn't sure that was wise, given the House's reputation. Draco would be thrilled, of course, but that would complicate things too much. So he finally got firm about it, and decided not to go with Slytherin.

"Are you sure? You could be great, you know. It's all here, inside your head, and Slytherin would help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that."

_No, that's alright. I want to be with my friends._

"Well if you're sure, better be... GRIFFINDOR!"

The last word was shouted, and there was so much cheering Harry fought to keep a headache away. He removed the hat and went to join Ron and Hermione, who were already sitting together.

Once everyone was sorted, Professor Dumbledore - who looked like Gandalf, if Gandalf had been flamboyantly gay, gave a very odd yet brief statement before letting them tuck in. Food magically appeared before them in the golden dishes, and everyone began to stuff themselves like they were Christmas turkeys.

Percy was nearby, too, and Harry listened to the conversation as he ate, sometimes joining in. Partway through the meal, his gaze went over to the teachers' table and fell on a man wearing a purple turban, and a sallow, hook-nosed man with greasy black hair next to him, who was glaring at Harry with an all too familiar look of utter hatred. And, at the same time, his scar burned with pain.

"Ow!" He cried out, unwittingly.

"'Samatta?" Ron asked through a mouth full of ham.

"Nothing, just another headache starting. Too many people in here." It was at least partially true, he was indeed fighting another headache.

"Hey Percy, who's that man next to the guy with the turban? For that matter, who are they both?"

"Oh, the man with the turban is Professor Quirrell," Percy said. "He teaches Defense Against The Dark Arts. And the other man is Professor Snape. Snape wants Quirrell's job, never gets it for some reason, though, despite the fact we go through one DADA teacher a year."

"What does Professor Snape teach, if not DADA?"

"He teaches Potions."

Harry groaned. It figured, the one class that sounded the most interesting was the one taught by a man who already didn't like him. He wondered why Snape hated him. He also wondered if there was any way to get the man to change his mind about that hatred.

There were some warnings and announcements after the feast was over, including a strange one about it being deadly to go to a forbidden corridor on the third floor. Harry made a mental note to learn where that was so he could avoid it. But before long, Percy - a prefect - began leading them all to the Griffindor common room, and up to their dormitories. Harry managed to get a dormitory with Ron, Neville, and one other boy named Seamus Finnegan. Their things were already there, fortuitously, so he changed into his pajamas and went to bed, falling asleep almost at once.

 

The first school day that next morning was very uncomfortable for Harry. He was just trying to find his way to classes in the confusing corridors, but people kept trying to look at him due to his unwanted fame. He ignored it best he could, though, so he could focus on the task of finding his way to classes.

Worse, though, was trying to write anything with quill and ink. Hadn't wizards ever heard of ballpoint pens and paper? He suspected they only used parchment because they made it magically; true parchment was a pain to make as well as to use, without magic. Harry kept messing up his page with ink blots, and whenever the ink didn't blot, it didn't come out at all.

By the end of the day, he was so frustrated that he went to Professor McGonagall, his head of house, to ask if he could use pen and paper.

She nodded after he explained. "Ah, Potter, you're far from the only Muggle-raised person to have that concern. We don't accept assignments on paper, of course, but here, I have something for you." She handed him a purple quill. "This quill is charmed to release ink more smoothly, and the tip has been transfigured to be rounded, as well as a hardening spell put on the tip and shaft to make them hard as metal. And there's a simple spell to put horizontal lines on a parchment. Watch me."

She pulled a piece of parchment from a pile, pointed her wand at it, and incanted, " _Membranis linea_

"Cool," he said. "So this quill will work like a ballpoint pen, but on parchment?"

"Yes, it will. Oh, while you're here, here's a few spares. You can even give them to your Muggle-born friends like Miss Granger," she said, giving him a handful of spare purple quills. "Anyway, try the spell yourself."

Putting the quills in his bag first, he pointed his wand at a new piece of parchment, and incanted the spell, " _Membranis linea_." It worked.

"So I can turn parchments in with these lines still on them?"

"Yes, Potter, you can. Professor Snape may not like it, but if he says anything, let me know, and I will remind him of Professor Dumbledore's stance on it."

“Thank you. Oh, and what if I need to correct a mistake?”

“There's an erasure spell, _lapsus delens,_ to erase a mistake completely, and _lapsus rectus_ is used to fix a mistake by replacing it _._ For the second spell, you have to be concentrating on the word you wish to have replace the mistake with, when you say the incantation, which makes that one a little more difficult.”

He wrote down a sentence with a mistake made on purpose, then tried the more difficult correction spell first; it worked, erasing the mistaken word and replacing it with... well, it was an entirely different wrong word, but he'd practice with it later. He then tried the simpler erasing spell, and the word disappeared.

"Thanks a lot, Professor. I really appreciate it."

“You're welcome, Mister Potter.”

Having the special quills helped a lot. The parchment still felt weird under his fingers, but the quills worked perfectly, just as easy as a ballpoint pen, but better because it was refillable by dipping the tip into an ink pot. As McGonagall predicted, Hermione and a few other Muggle-borns in Griffindor appreciated them too. Before long, news of these quills spread, and by the end of the week, he saw people in Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and even a couple people in Slytherin using the purple quills. And even purebloods could be seen using the spell to make guidance lines on the parchments.

The classes themselves were a mixed bag. Harry wasn't sure what he thought of herbology; the magical plants were interesting, but working with them reminded him a bit too much of the yardwork Aunt Petunia often made him do.

History of Magic disappointed him; it was a fascinating subject, but Professor Binns made it extraordinarily dull with his monotonous lecturing. It was too much for Harry, and he didn't know how Hermione managed. It was so bad that he decided to try to find out if there were dictation quills that would take notes for him.

Charms was cool. Professor Flitwick was so short that Harry wondered if he was half goblin or something of the sort. The tiny wizard, standing on a pile of books to see over his desk, fell over with an excited squeak when he read Harry's name on the class register.

When Harry had guessed McGonagall would be strict, he had been right. But though she was strict, she was fair. After warning them to not mess around in her class, she demonstrated transfiguration by turning the furniture into a pig and back again. Their own task was much simpler, though: matchsticks into needles. By the end of the lesson, only Harry and Hermione had managed it. Having two students in the same class do so well the first day made Professor McGonagall beam with a rare grin, and they both got points for Griffindor from her.

Their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was a bad joke, as Professor Quirrell was a fraidy cat who stuttered a lot. The classes had him jumping at his own subject half the time, and he didn't seem to like to talk much about his personal experiences. Harry wondered why the man didn't transfer to something less frightening, or retire.

By Friday, Harry had figured out how to navigate to his classes, and even Ron had sorted it out. But it was also the day of their first Potions class with Professor Snape, a double period with the Slytherins. From what he'd heard over the week about Snape, Harry thought the man sounded worse than he'd feared. He would later realize he'd had no idea how bad the man was.

That morning in the Great Hall, Harry got a letter from Hagrid. It was _not_ Harry's first letter, since he'd gotten one from Luna on Tuesday. This letter asked him (and his friends, too, if they wanted to) to come over to Hagrid's house after classes that day. That was good; he'd have something to look forward to, after Snape.

They waited down in the dungeons outside Snape's door, and before long he appeared, ushering them in. Then he, too, took roll call. When he got to Harry's name...

"Ah yes," Snape said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new... _celebrity_."

A few of the Slytherins sniggered, including Crabbe and Goyle. Draco motioned to them to shut up, though it looked like an afterthought. It seemed Draco had taken Harry's words to heart and was trying to stay on Harry's good side, though. It made sense; who wouldn't want the famous Harry Potter on their side? Well, except for Snape, of course.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art that is potion making," he began. He was barely louder than a whisper, but he had their complete attention and they caught every word. "There is little foolish wand waving or incantations in this class, so many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really comprehend the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death. If you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry had already been interested, but Snape's speech had him absolutely enthralled. Hermione, too, was on the edge of her seat, eager to prove she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" Snape snapped suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

He remembered this from his Potions book. Ignoring Hermione's outstretched arm, he said, "A sleeping potion so powerful it's called the Draught of Living Death."

Snape looked impressed, despite himself, and very annoyed about that fact.

"Lucky guess. Let's try another one: where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"In the stomach of a goat, sir."

Snape seemed to be waiting for something. When Harry didn't continue, he made an impatient motion and said, "And what does a bezoar _do_ , Potter?"

"It will save the person you use it on from most poisons."

The professor again looked very torn between a desire to continue hating Harry, and being impressed.

"So you opened a book before school started, did you? Trying to suck up, no doubt? Potter, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione bouncing in her seat for attention was a little annoying, but he again ignored it. "There is no difference, Professor. It's the same plant, a flower that is also known as aconite, and is pretty common in England. It's also poisonous."

The look on Snape's face was beginning to resemble the angry look on Uncle Vernon's face. "Sit DOWN," he snapped at Hermione. "I see, Mister Potter, that you are every bit the arrogant know-it-all that your father was. Not only famous, but with a need to show off as well. Five points from Griffindor for your insolence, Potter."

Harry was getting angry with Snape, but years of experience taught him to hide that anger, so he did. Besides which, nothing would be served by adding rudeness atop perceived arrogance. Snape had clearly decided to hate him, for whatever reason, and since the reason did not appear to be anything Harry had done, he didn't think there was any more chance of changing Snape's mind than there was of changing his uncle's mind. The reference to his father seemed to mean it wasn't racism, at least, or not _just_ that. Snape clearly had a personal vendetta against Harry's father. He decided to just do the best he could in class and not give Snape more reason than he already had, to single him out.

"As for the rest of you," Snape said to the class at large, "why aren't you writing all this _down_?"

At that, everyone hurried to get out their quills and write down Harry's answers to Snape's questions.

Things got little better in that class. They were paired up to work on a potion to cure boils, and Snape swept through the class like an angry vulture while they brewed it, glaring at everyone and criticizing everyone but Malfoy, who he seemed to have a soft spot for. He was praising Malfoy when Neville's cauldron melted in a noisy smoking mess, burning holes in things. Neville himself was drenched in it, moaning in pain.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the potion away with his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking it off the fire? Take him up to the hospital wing," he added to Seamus.

"Potter! You're so smart, why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look even better if he got it wrong, did you? That's another three points from Griffindor!"

This was completely unfair, of course, but Harry was no stranger to being unfairly accused of things, so he let it slide, despite being angry about it.

"I don't know how you stayed so calm back there," Ron said later as they left the dungeons, "but it's a good thing you did. I hear Snape can get really nasty. But don't worry too much, Fred and George get points taken away from them all the time. Anyway, can I go with you to Hagrid's?"

"Yeah, he said you and Hermione could come over too if you wanted. Where is-- oh, there she is."

Hermione came running up at that moment to greet them and ask them about their day. Harry invited Hermione to join them real quick first, in case he forgot later.

At five the three of them went to Hagrid's house, a little wooden hut that was barely big enough for a normal person, let alone a giant of a man like Hagrid; he also had a big, cowardly dog named Fang living in there with him. While they were at his place, they found a copy of the Daily Prophet saying "Gringott's Break-In Latest," an article about a break-in at Gringott's on 31st July.

"That was my birthday! Hagrid, that was several days after we were there! I wonder what they were after."

“No idea. So, uh, how's your school week been, Harry?” Hagrid said. Harry immediately launched into an account of his week, especially about Snape.

 

After they left Hagrid's, Ron turned to Harry and said, "Hagrid sure was nervous about that Gringott's break-in. Every time it came up, he looked really uncomfortable."

"Did he?" asked Hermione. "I didn't notice."

"Nor did I,” said Harry. “I wonder why." He thought about it a moment. "Well, he did get some top-secret package from Gringott's the day he took me there, something tiny in a grubby package. I don't know what that was, but it could be whatever the would-be thieves were looking for, given how difficult it is to break into and out of Gringott's."

It was a mystery, a _real_ mystery. And as Harry's librarian in Little Whinging could attest to, Harry _loved_ a mystery.

 

Later Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in the Griffindor common room, talking. "I love these classes, except for Snape of course," Harry said, "but I miss Science. I even miss Maths. I'm not great shakes at Maths, but I still think it should be taught. Also Art. I'd like to know how to make drawings and paintings that move."

"What's Science?" asked Ron. Harry and Hermione stared at him incredulously. "What? It's a legitimate question."

"Science is the study of the way the world works. Things like the laws of motion, animal anatomy, how plants work, so on."

"How plants work? Well they just work with magic, don't they?"

"No Ron," Hermione said patiently, "they don't. Animals don't work with magic, either. If they did, there would be no Muggles."

"So how does a plant work, then, eh?" Ron asked, a slight challenge in his voice.

"Well first," Harry said, "All living things are made up of these things called cells."

"What, like prison cells?"

"Well, that is how they were named, but no. A cell is a tiny living thing, so small you have to use a microscope to see it."

"Microscope? Is that like, the opposite of a telescope?"

"Yes, actually, that's a good definition," Harry said. "I should bring a microscope into Hogwarts, one of the ones that just uses light, not an electric one. I could show you cells.

"Anyway," he continued, "the smallest living things are single-celled organisms called bacteria. But animals and plants are multi-celled organisms, so we're made of trillions upon trillions of cells."

"Bloody Hell!" Ron exclaimed.

"Yes. Now plant cells, at least the ones in the leaves, take in sunlight and use that sunlight and something called carbon dioxide - CO2 - from the air, and turn the CO2 into sugar. They store the sugar, then use oxygen to burn the sugar for energy when they need it."

"And they do that without magic?"

"Yes. It's a chemical reaction."

"Chemical reaction?"

Hermione defined a chemical reaction, which by necessity included explaining elements and atoms. Ron was so fascinated that they explained what atoms were made of, too. "Wow, that's impressive. So the whole world and everything in it is made of these tiny atoms? How small are they? Can they be seen?"

"I'm not sure if Muggle scientists have seen one yet," Harry admitted. "I'll have to check. But they're so small, they can't be observed directly."

"Wow."

"If you think all that's interesting, Ron," Hermione said, "I have more for you. Have you heard of electricity?"

"Yeah, that's what Muggles use to make lights and power a lot of their things. What about it?"

"Remember the electron?"

"Wait, are you saying Muggles know how to strip electrons off atoms and harness them?"

"Well, yes. Electrons aren't attached to atoms, they just orbit atoms. And they tend to move around in their orbits and between atoms anyway. Lightning is electricity."

"Really? COOL!"

"You know," said Harry, "maybe, since Hogwarts doesn't teach these things, we should make like, some kind of club where we study Science, Math, and other Muggle subjects. I suspect wizards could do a lot with Muggle learning, especially some of the higher sciences like quantum physics."

Before Ron could open his mouth, Hermione said, "Quantum physics is too hard to explain right now, even if I understood it myself."

"Yeah, same here. In fact, it kind of baffles even the scientists."

Ron looked almost stunned. "You know, if you wanted to start a club like that, I'd definitely join. It kind of makes me wonder what Muggle Studies is like, too, but we won't find out until third year, it's an elective course."

"Really?" Hermione said. "You'd think, with all these Muggle-borns, and with so many Ministry jobs involving working with Muggles, that Muggle Studies would be a required course, at least for anyone who isn't Muggle-born."

"Yeah, and I could really use Wizard Studies as a course. I've been in this world for a month and a few weeks, and I've already come across a bunch of cultural stuff wizards and witches all take for granted that I could really use some help with."

Hermione nodded. "Me too. Maybe we could ask McGonagall about it? Even if there isn't one yet, maybe they'd start one up if there was enough demand. We should find out who else is Muggle-born and have them talk with their heads of houses, too."

"Who teaches Muggle Studies? If they're any good at that class, they might understand Muggles enough to teach a Wizard Studies class."

Hermione pulled a piece of parchment out of her bag suddenly, and started writing down everything they'd said regarding Wizard Studies, so she could remember. Then, on another piece of parchment, wrote down ideas for the club they were thinking of making, for Science and Maths and so on.

"Back to that club idea," Hermione said, pulling her bushy hair back into an Afro puff to get it out of her face, "we need a name for it?"

They sat there, silently thinking about it for several minutes.

"Muggle Academia Club?" mused Harry.

"Ooh, I like that one. Because all subjects of learning are academia, and 'Muggle academia' would specify subjects in the Muggle world."

"I'll have to figure out how to buy Muggle science and maths books, among other subjects, via owl order."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Or, if that doesn't work, you could give a list to a willing adult, tell them where to go, and they could buy those things for you. They'd have to convert their gold to Muggle money first, of course, but they could do it.”

"We'll also have to find out how much the required books would cost, first."

They continued talking about that for another hour, before going up to bed. As Harry lay there trying to get to sleep, he mused that he now had three things to occupy his thoughts: Wizard Studies, the Muggle Academia Club, and the mystery of the thing Hagrid had taken from Gringott's on Dumbledore's orders. That made it very hard to get to sleep, but finally he managed it, those thoughts still going through his mind in his dreams.

 

 

 

Note: No, I am not a Harry/Draco shipper, so this will not be going that direction. I reserve the right for Draco's and Harry's tenuous acquaintence to fail at some point and become enemies, I just think this Harry has a hard enough time coping to make new enemies needlessly.

 

Also, I am aware that _lapsis delens_ and _lapsis rectis_ aren't canon. I looked through the official lists of canon spells and couldn't find any correction spells, so I made a couple up for this story. I don't know how good the Latin is, but considering that the canon spells are a mix of good Latin, pseudo-Latin, and non-Latin, I don't think that really matters.


	4. Chapter 5: Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets Neville's Remembrall back from Draco, delves further into the mystery of the grubby package, wanders into the forbidden third-floor corridor, and a troll is let loose in the dungeons. But whatever you're expecting this chapter to be like, you're probably wrong.

"Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals"

By = Fayanora

 

Note: A bit of harmless fanfic fun for no money, written by a fan who only WISHES she owned the Harry Potter rights.

 

Chapter 5: Discoveries

 

Harry was just getting into the swing of things when it was announced that Thursday would be flying lessons, with the first year Slytherins. Harry wasn't too pleased with the idea, said he'd make a fool of himself in front of all the Slytherins.

"You don't know you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron.

"Maybe not. But you have flying experience, and I don't. Closest I ever came was ending up on the school roof once. I had no idea how it happened back then, but of course now it must have been accidental magic."

"Really? Tell me more."

Harry described the experience in more detail, and Ron said, "Wow, sounds like you accidentally apparated--disappeared then reappeared elsewhere," he added by way of explanation.

"Well I wasn't fond of the height, and they had to open the roof access door to get me down. I'm not sure if I'll like flying."

"If you're worried about falling, you shouldn't. You might break a few bones or get a concussion, but between accidental magic and the magic of Hogwarts, I doubt you'd be hurt too bad to be fixed."

"Gee thanks, that's such a comfort."

 

Thursday morning in the Great Hall at breakfast, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting by Neville Longbottom, the round-faced, forgetful boy who'd lost his toad on the train. His grandmother had sent him a package. It contained a small glass ball that filled with red smoke the moment Neville touched it.

"What's that?" asked Harry.

"It's a Remembrall!" Neville explained. "Gran knows I forget things - this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Only, it doesn't tell you... what you've forgotten."

"That doesn't sound very useful. I'm sure everyone's got something they've forgotten. I don't know much about magic yet, but surely if a device can detect you've forgotten something, it could be modified to tell you _what_ you've forgotten."

Neville shrugged, and continued trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who'd been passing by, snatched it out of his hand to examine it.

Ron jumped up hotly, but Harry stayed seated, looking at Malfoy over his glasses. "Draco," he said warningly. Mrs. McGonagall started hustling over as well, her keen nose for trouble having alerted her. Struggling to suppress a scowl, Malfoy gave the Remembrall back.

"My apologies," he said with forced politeness. "I was just curious." He skulked off with Crabbe and Goyle.

 

At half past three in the afternoon, the Griffindors and Slytherins met outside for flying lessons with Ms. Hooch. The weather was perfectly calm and warm, great for flying.

The teacher, Ms. Hooch, looked a little like a hawk or owl with her grey hair and yellow eyes; Harry had never seen eye color like that on a human before, and wondered if it meant she was part-human. He didn't know how to find out, though, without being rude, so he set that thought aside.

She lined them all up and gave them directions for preparing their brooms. Harry's was one of the few that shot right into his hand when he commanded it to. Hermione's merely rolled around on the ground. After a brief explanation of what she wanted them to do, she counted down from three. Neville got ahead of her from nerves, and meandered into the air in an uncontrolled fashion. Then he shot around the courtyard and ended up falling and breaking his wrist.

Ms. Hooch commanded that nobody should enter the air while she took Neville to the hospital. But once she was gone, Malfoy walked over to where Neville had dropped his Remembrall, and picked it up, a look in his face signifying potential trouble brewing.

Harry sighed, and walked over to Malfoy. Giving the boy the benefit of the doubt, he said, "Ah, Neville's Remembrall. I'm in Neville's House, Draco, I can get his Remembrall back to him," and held out his hand for the ball.

Years of watching his uncle's facial expressions helped Harry see the internal battle in Draco's face as he fought between his desire to stay on Harry's good side, and his desire to bully Neville. Finally, though, the former won, and - sticking his nose up in the air like he was above it all, Draco handed the Remembrall to Harry, said "I quite agree," and walked away with exaggerated dignity and grace.

 

Harry worried that it was only a matter of time before Malfoy lost his self control and became a bully to Harry. He spent time thinking on this potential problem, and eventually decided he would have to give Malfoy something other than judgment of his behavior. Harry didn't know what he could do toward that end yet, but at least knowing what he didn't know yet was useful to him.

Draco wasn't the only thing on Harry's mind, other than schoolwork, not by far. He still occasionally mulled over the mystery of the grubby package. It was obvious to him that whatever it was had been brought to Hogwart's, and was in the forbidden third floor corridor. And while it might not have been the smartest thing ever, he had a powerful desire to know what exactly was guarding it. His initial thoughts were things like the traps in Indiana Jones movies, and he wondered how magic could make such traps and obstacles even more formidable, but he didn't get far.

He also tried finding a map of Hogwarts somewhere in "Hogwarts: A History" and other books, to no avail. In fact, he even found out that the castle was "unplottable," meaning it couldn't be put on a map. That seemed a little odd to him, seeing as the castle wasn't far from Hogsmeade, and unless the entire village was also unplottable, well... that would give potential enemies at least _some_ idea where Hogwarts was.

The biggest problem was, there wasn't really an ideal time to go looking into the mystery of the forbidden corridor. Between students and teachers coming and going, Filch and his cat lurking about looking for troublemakers, Peeves the Poltergeist flying around causing mischief, and teachers patrolling the halls at night, Harry would have to be either mad or reckless or both to try to find the forbidden corridor at any time of the day or night.

He tried looking through the library for some way to do it, but the librarian - Ms. Pince - did not appear to have heard of a card catalog, let alone have one. A lot of things were fairly easy to find by way of how things were arranged on the shelves, but a lot more could have been there, there just wasn't any way to find it. Well, unless he asked the librarian, and she seemed to have an almost Filch-like dislike of children being in her precious library and touching her precious books.

In the end, all his careful planning turned out to be unnecessary, for one day he, Hermione, and Ron were talking and walking without paying attention, and just happened to wander up to the forbidden third floor corridor. It was dark when they entered, but torches lit up when they got there.

"This is the third floor corridor," Hermione said in a worried tone, flapping her hands in terror. "It's forbidden!"

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said, ducking back in from having checked the exit. "I think I saw Mrs. Norris out there."

"Did she see you? Or smell you?"

"No, she was facing the other way. But what if she smells us?"

"I found a handy spell for that the other day," Harry said. He waved his wand, said an incantation, and air started flowing gently in from the exit. "There, now we're upwind of her. While we're here, I want to take a look around. Listen, just hide behind these statues if you're worried."

Harry examined the wooden door at the end of the corridor, with Ron and Hermione behind him. It seemed Hermione didn't want to be alone in another part of the hallway.

"Alohamora," Harry said at the door, and it unlocked. Cautiously, he peeked in. What he saw made his face turn as pale as his brown skin allowed, and he carefully closed the door and re-locked it. The other two heard great booming barks, muffled by the closing door, and also turned sickly looking.

"What? What was it?" Ron demanded.

"I'll tell you later," Harry said, his voice shaking. “ _Hominem revelio_ ,” he intonated, casting another spell that was beyond his years.

"Okay, I don't detect Filch or any students," he said. "I don't know how to detect poltergeists or cats, though." He peeked out the door and saw no sign of either. He waited for the stone staircase to start to shake with pre-moving shakes, then gestured for the other two to follow him. They got on the staircase just before it began to move, and got off it at a safer area of the castle. Then, as nonchalantly as they could manage, they made their way back to the Griffindor common room.

When they got there, the common room was busy with people talking, so the three of them sat at a table and began to talk quietly amongst themselves.

"So what did you see?"

Harry inhaled for strength, then said, "A massive, three headed dog. Luckily, it was asleep. But it began to get up as I watched it, and I briefly saw a trapdoor under it." He was worried that they wouldn't believe him, but his voice was still shaking, and so were his hands, which seemed to give him more credibility.

Ron turned white, and Hermione's dark skin looked sickly. "What?" Ron whispered hoarsely. "A giant three-headed dog?"

"Yes. Given what I've read of Greek mythology, I'd guess it's called a Cerberus. Muggles know about a lot of magical creatures, probably from the days before the statute of secrecy. Only, most Muggles think those creatures are imaginary."

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a great beast like that locked up in the school?"

"I think that the grubby package Hagrid took from Gringott's is down there, under that trap door. Possibly with other stuff between the door and it, to make it even more difficult to get to. But I agree, something like this would not be done at a Muggle school; Muggle schools frown on putting kids at danger. And it wasn't exactly difficult to get in there. You'd think, at the very least, that they'd cover the corridor's entrance with a brick wall like the one in Diagon Alley."

"Well you could always go tell Dumbledore you think his security is lacking, if you don't mind getting expelled for breaking the rules," Hermione snapped. Harry was about to snap back angrily, but he noticed her eyes were watering and she was shaking. Harry wasn't great with most facial expressions, but he could read signs _that_ obvious; she'd snapped at him out of fear.

"What if that dog had bitten you, Harry? You could have died! Or worse," she continued in the same terrified tone, "been _expelled_."

"I'm pretty sure death is worse than being expelled, Hermione," Ron said.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, look at Hagrid. He once told me, offhand, that he'd been expelled in his third year."

"When'd he tell you that?"

"Oh, I went to see him the other day. I couldn't find either of you at the time, and it came up in our chat. Anyway, we got off track. What could be so important you'd need a Cerberus guarding it?"

The discussion went on for over an hour, but none of them could agree on anything that fit, so eventually they gave up. Harry decided to do some schoolwork. Hermione did some reading, too, which left Ron with no choice but to work on his schoolwork, too.

 

Life at school went on, as it does, with no more real excitement beyond the interesting things in most classes. Snape continued to be very annoyed with Harry for being so good at potions, and so had to find other excuses to dock points from Griffindor unfairly. The fact that Harry just took the abuse without reacting seemed to infuriate Snape even more, but not enough to have any more excuses to bully him.

It wasn't until Halloween that anything else happened. The three of them went into the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, talking eagerly about Halloween. Hermione was explaining Muggle Halloween traditions to Ron. Ron's eyes went wide at her explanation.

"You mean to tell me that Muggle children dress up in costumes and go get candy from random strangers by going door to door? That's insane!"

"Now Ron, the kids have their parents with them, and the parents go through the candy first before they get to eat any, so it's safe."

"That's not what I mean," Ron explained. "In the wizarding world, we stay indoors on Halloween. It's said to be the one time of year that Dementors and other dark and dangerous creatures get to roam free. We put Jack-o-lanterns out to scare those kinds of creatures away. I was baffled by the feast until Hermione explained Muggle traditions; Dumbledore really likes Muggles, must be why our Halloween here is more Muggle like."

"What's a Dementor?" asked Harry.

"They're the guards of Azkaban prison," Ron said. "They're horrible. Tall, hooded figures that glide around like ghosts, and being around one makes you feel cold, and sucks all the happiness out of the room."

"Holy crud!" Harry exclaimed. "They have things like that guarding wizarding prisoners?"

"Yes. Dad says Dumbledore hates them, thinks they should be expelled from Azkaban."

"You know, the wizarding traditions for Halloween are very similar to old Halloween traditions I read about," Harry said. "Muggles used to do the same things, but they were scared of ghosts and monsters and stuff. And witches, too, come to think of it."

"Makes sense. Muggles can't see Dementors, so they'd have to be scared of something else. I wonder why their traditions changed and ours didn't?"

"They stopped believing in magic, obviously. For the most part."

Just then, Professor Quirrel ran into the hall, panic on his face. "TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS! Troll in the dungeons! Thought you ought to know," he finished, before fainting. Most people in the room began screaming and making a huge ruckus, which grated on Harry's nerves, but he also understood. He'd read about trolls, they sounded dangerous.

Dumbledore made some bangs come from his wand, getting everyone's silence and attention. "Please, everyone, you'll be safe here in the Great Hall. Prefects, please watch the other students while I and the other professors go take care of the troll. I will lock the doors so it cannot get in, if it wanders up here."

Everyone sat back down, and began talking anxiously about the troll. A few minutes in, Harry looked around in confusion.

"Where did Quirrel go?"

Ron looked at him. "What? Oh, I dunno. Prob'ly went off with the other teachers."

"That coward, going to face a troll? No, he's gone somewhere else, I'm sure. Last I saw him, he was on the floor. No idea when he snuck out."

"Harry," Hermione said gently, "there was a lot of noise. He may not have been sneaking around at all."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Hey wait, did anyone check to make sure nobody was caught out in the halls? Don't the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs have their dorms in the dungeons?"

"Hey Percy," Ron called to his brother. "What is it, Ron? I'm a little busy at the moment keeping an eye on you lot."

"Hi," Harry said. "I wanted to know if anyone checked to make sure nobody was caught out in the halls or dungeons."

"I've checked with the other Prefects, and everyone seems to be accounted for. At least, nobody appears to be missing anyone from their Houses."

"Well that's a relief," Harry said with a sigh.

About a half an hour later, the teachers returned. Dumbledore went up to the teacher's table and stood at his lectern. "You'll all be happy to know that the troll has been subdued and is even now being removed from the premises by Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sinistra. If you have not felt comfortable eating during this trying time, I hope you will be able to continue the feast now."

Unlike a lot of other people, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had not stopped eating during the crisis, and ended up leaving early. As they went back to Griffindor Tower, Harry spotted Snape on his way from the third floor to Filch's office; he was limping, and his leg was bloody. He pointed this out to the others.

"Wonder what happened to his leg?" Hermione asked.

"Dunno, but I hope it really hurts, the bullying git," Ron said vehemently.

"He was coming from the third floor. Which is where that Cerberus is."

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "You think he was trying to get past that massive mutt?"

"Oh come now, Harry, what would a teacher be doing trying to get past that giant dog?"

"I dunno, but if he got attacked, he can't have been there on official business."

Harry pondered the mystery silently all the rest of the way back to their common room. First Quirrel slipped out unnoticed in the midst of the chaos he stirred up, then Snape was coming from the forbidden third floor corridor with a bloody leg. It was too strange to be a coincidence. Sure, Hermione had a point that Quirrel could have just left without being sneaky, or may have gone with the other teachers, but they hadn't been making noise very long before Dumbledore silenced them, and Quirrel had supposedly fainted. He didn't know how long it took someone to recover from fainting, but it had to take longer than _that_. The mystery kept him awake for several hours in bed before his exhaustion finally took him to sleep.

 

The next day, the trio went down to Hagrid's hut to visit again. While they were there, they talked about the troll, which was a perfect opening to mention Snape's strange activities and bloody leg, and the fact that they'd accidentally found out about the massive three-headed dog. Harry also mentioned that Snape and/or Quirrel might be trying to steal whatever the Cerberus was guarding.

"Oh now, stop it yeh three," Hagrid said dismissively. "Snape's not tryin' ter steal nuthin, and neither is Quirrel; in fact, they're two o' the teachers protectin the--"

"Yes?"

"Never you mind. 's nunyer bizness wha Fluffy is guardin--"

Ron's eyes goggled. "You named it _Fluffy_? Massive, three-headed dog, and you name it _Fluffy_?"

"Well why shouldn't he?" asked Harry. "I read an etymology of the word 'Cerberus' once, since it appears in Greek mythology, and apparently it's the Greek word for 'Spotted.' IE, the official term for it is the Greek version of 'Spot,' one of the most popular dog names in the world."

Both Ron and Hermione goggled at that one, while Hagrid guffawed deeply.

"They named a great beast like that 'Spot'?"

"Now Ron, don' be mean ter Fluffy, he's jus a seriously misunderstood creature, he is."

They rolled their eyes at this; Hagrid and his monster obsession.

"But you're sure whatever Fluffy's guarding is safe?" asked Harry. "I mean, somebody got into Gringotts, and then out again, and that's supposed to be impossible. Makes me think a clever enough person could do the same here."

"Never you mind wha Fluffy's guardin, tha's strictly between Professor Dumbledore and Nickolas Flamel."

"Ah, so someone named Nickolas Flamel is involved, is it?" said Ron.

Hagrid's face - what little of it could be seen with his bushy hair and beard - went white. "Forget I said tha, I shouldn't've said that. Damn, makes me wish I could do _obliviate_ , tha does. You lot keep yer noses outta what ain't yer bizness, mind? Yer kids, yer not ter be meddlin in dangerous stuff like tha, you unnerstan?"

They all three nodded, and solemnly swore they would nose out, but all of them had their fingers crossed behind their backs.

 

As they walked back up to school, Ron started conversation. "Nickolas Flamel, huh? I wonder who that is."

"Well that's no mystery," Harry said.

"It's not?" Ron goggled. "How do you know something about the wizarding world I don't?"

"Because I remember reading that name, when reading about Dumbledore on my first Chocolate Frog card."

"Really?"

"Yes."

When they got back to the common room, Harry ran up to his trunk and brought down the card in question. "See, 'Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel.'"

"Yeah," Ron said, "but that doesn't tell us who he _is._ Unless you read something else about him? Or you, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head, but Harry nodded. "Nickolas Flamel is known to Muggles. I don't know if he predates the Statute of Secrecy or what, but the Muggles know about him. I read a book in the library once about him and some other alchemists. It's a topic of interest for Muggles because alchemists are considered to be some of the first scientists, at least according to Muggle sources. Isaac Newton was an alchemist, in fact."

"Who's Izak Nooden?" Ron asked.

"Isaac Newton. He was the first person to mathematically describe gravity, and he came up with a lot of really important laws of physics, like the law of conservation of energy."

"You do know what gravity--" Hermione began to ask.

"Of course I bloody well know what gravity is! It's what sticks us to the ground, keeps us from flying off toward the moon."

"Well that's a relief. Honestly, I wasn't sure, the state of science education in the wizarding world is absolutely horrendous, I wouldn't have been surprised if you hadn't been taught about gravity."

"Yeah, well, a few things leak in, prob'ly from Muggleborns and halfbloods. Anyway, so do you know why Flamel is important to the mystery?"

"Yes. Alchemy was concerned with creating the Philosopher's Stone, which supposedly could transmute any metal into solid gold, and make The Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal."

"Immortal?"

"It means you'll never die," Hermione explained.

"I know what it means!" Ron shot back hotly. "Anyway, no wonder Snape's after the stone, if it makes endless gold and makes you live forever. Who _wouldn't_ want it?"

"I wouldn't have wanted to be immortal, if it'd meant spending any more time with the Dursleys. Though I suppose with all that gold, I could escape and live on my own... but no, that's too much power for one person to have. And put too much gold on the market and eventually it becomes worthless. A large part of why gold is worth so much is because it's not exactly common."

"Still, if you were careful not to make too much..." Ron trailed off.

Later that night, Harry again had trouble sleeping, the thought of Snape, that miserable git, being immortal and unbelievably wealthy haunting him. He very much hoped Hagrid was right, and that nobody could get the stone unless they were authorized to. Which, considering Dumbledore's partnership with Flamel, probably meant Dumbledore was the only one authorized to retrieve it. He fell into a fitful sleep that night.

 

 

 

Note one: I thought hard about the events of this chapter, and finally I decided that this Harry wouldn't care for the noise and commotion of Quidditch, and would think of Quidditch as a waste of time. If offered a position on the team he'd probably say something like "And waste all those hours I could be studying or reading? No thank you." He'll probably watch it at least once, just to see what the fuss is about, but I doubt he'll enjoy it. There are, of course, aspies that like sports, but this Harry is not one of them.

 

Note two: Yes, they discover Flamel earlier. No, it's not going to make the final battle with Professor Two-Face happen any faster.

 


	5. Chapter 6: Erised Eluys Sam T'Sirhc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas! Yule be surprised by Harry's holiday, full of discoveries, decisions, and mirrors!

"Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals"

By = Fayanora

 

Chapter 6: Erised Eluys Sam T'Sirhc

 

November sped by fast for Harry, what with schoolwork, helping Ron on his schoolwork, and working on preliminary details for a Muggle sciences club, and so very quickly the Christmas holidays crept up on Harry.

"Oh goody, Christmas," Harry said aloud with dread when he heard about it.

"You got something against Christmas, mate?"

"Just that I never got any presents for Christmas before, and, well..." he paused, not knowing if he wanted to continue or not, before continuing. "I more have a problem with the name and the reason for the season."

Ron stared blankly at him.

"What I mean is, Christmas comes from Christ mass, and it's Jesus Christ's birthday, supposedly. Actually, he was born in the spring, according to the Bible. But, well... the Dursleys went to church every Sunday. I never had to go, thank goodness; they didn't want to associate with me in public unless they had to. Also, they told me I was a lost cause, doomed to Hell no matter how hard I prayed. I never understood why, really, until now. I used to think they thought all black people were Hell-bound, but it might have more to do with the fact they knew I was a wizard."

"That's horrible, mate."

"Yeah, sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's them that should be sorry. Anyway, Christmas in the wizarding world isn't like it is in the Muggle world, or at least according to Dad. He said something about the Old Ways being lost in the Muggle world."

"Old Ways?"

"Yeah, before Christianity came through Europe." Ron waved a hand vaguely. "Like, a lot of the old pagan ways survived in the wizarding world because of us being... well, because we had to keep secrets. Only, Christianity is mixed in there too somehow. I dunno, there's books on the subject that'd know more'n me."

This information lit a fire under Harry. He had never heard of any religion other than Christianity, Judaism, or Islam, and finding out about a religion that predated Christianity... the first opportunity he had, he went looking through the library for books about it.

According to the books he read about the subject, Ron was right; the wizarding world was a mix of old pagan paths and Christianity. In fact, most wizards these days believed in a hybrid of Christianity and paganism; very few were just one or the other.

It made sense to him; the wizarding world was socially behind the Muggle world in many ways, and given their need for secrecy for so long, even before the Statute of Secrecy, it made sense that the old ways would survive.

What survived to the modern wizarding era were largely the more acceptable parts of the old ways. Human sacrifice was gone, animal sacrifices were rare and when they did happen, usually only happened as part of a ritual meal where the sacrificed animal gets eaten; only the blood went to the gods.

What spoke to him the most was a description of pagan ways as revering nature, the divinity in all living creatures, and how the whole world was sacred, a church. Thinking back, Harry remembered all the times he'd gotten away from other people and gone to the park, how comforting it had been to be around trees and animals, even in the middle of a town like Little Whinging, where everything was landscaped to within an inch of its life. He even thought about gardening; not his favorite chore, but one of the ones he least minded, because it got him out of the house and usually got him away from the Dursleys, but also because he kind of liked making things grow.

Harry spent hours in the library every day reading up on the old ways, learning more and more. None of the gods or goddesses really spoke to him at first, but he was new; it would take time if any came, and they might not. There was also pantheism to consider, too.

Best of all, taking a path with no Christianity or other rule-centric religion stifling him meant that he could follow his own conscience, and it helped him with some of the anger against the Dursleys that was starting to seep into his consciousness more than ever. It wasn't a new emotion-- he'd been angry at them for years, but a lot of that anger had been directed at God, for letting the Dursleys abuse him. But if there were no all-powerful God that claimed to also be all-loving... if the world just _is_ , and nobody was to blame for his life but the Dursleys and circumstance, then that was very liberating to him.

None of this made Christmas (or Yule as a lot of wizards also called it) come any slower, and Harry was worried about where he would go during the vacation. He expressed this worry to Ron one day while they were playing wizard chess together, and Ron's eyes went wide.

"Oh, sorry, Mum told me to invite you over weeks ago, didn't I tell you?"

That made Harry beam. "Thanks!" he hugged his friend.

"You're welcome. Anyway, given everything you've been reading, should I ask Mum to get the Yule log out?"

"Why, do your parents do Christmas rather than Yule?"

"Yeah, they're Christopagan," said Ron, using the term Harry had told him days ago for the hybrid between the old ways and Christianity. "So some years they do a Yule log, too, just for the heck of it."

"Well I'm still new to all this, but the old ways call to me. I think I've been a pagan all my life and never knew it til now."

"Cool. I'd better write Mum a letter before I forget," Ron said, pulling parchment and quill out to scribble off a letter really quick. "Gotta go find an owl now Harry, see ya!"

"See ya!" he shouted at Ron's retreating back.

 

Leaving for the Weasley's was a lot like leaving Hogwarts, but in the dead of winter, and with his trunk still in the castle. He'd brought along a rucksack full of clothes and another bag full of some reading material, though. Also, they weren't taking the train. Instead, they used something called The Knight Bus. It was a horrible experience, as the driver didn't so much drive as aim the bus in the general direction of where he was going and ride roughshod over the landscape while trees and buildings leapt out of the way. It made Harry very ill, and he'd had to shut his eyes for most of the ride to avoid getting a headache.

When he finally got off the bus, he vomited his bacon and eggs onto the side of the road. He wiped the sick from his mouth and wobbled in the direction of the Burrow's front door.

His experience was offset by Mrs. Weasley making them all a large lunch, for which Harry was very grateful. After lunch, instead of going upstairs to read, he bundled up and went outside. It was cold but beautiful, the snow virgin in most places. He was looking for someone though, as he had sent Luna an owl the day before.

"Hey, slow down mate, Mum wants us to come with you."

Harry looked up and saw Ron, Ginny, and Percy came running behind him.

"Oh, duh, I forgot. Thanks, guys."

It didn't take as long to find Luna as they'd thought it would, she had already been en route to the Burrow, and they met her at the edge of the property.

"Good," said Ron, shivering. "Now we can go back. I didn't know it was going to be quite this cold today."

"Luna!" Harry said excitedly, holding both hands out to her. She smiled and took his hands in hers. Ron looked askance at that, holding in a snort of laughter. Ginny turned red and turned away, and even Percy raised an eyebrow, but both Luna and Harry were oblivious. They walked arm in arm back to the Burrow, talking about the Old Ways, which Luna was very knowledgeable about, as her father was strictly pagan.

Sitting around the fire in the Weasley's living room, they continued their conversation, everyone nursing hot cocoa; everyone but Ginny, who had gone to her room.

When Luna got up to use the restroom, Harry finally noticed Ginny's absence.

"Where'd Ginny go?"

"To her room."

"Why?"

"Well, she fancies you, mate, and you're kinda stuck on Luna. I guess she got upset."

Harry's face turned red. "Luna and I are just friends."

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, well, Ginny doesn't know that. I mean, you were holding hands and walking arm in arm."

"Yeah, but I... that doesn't mean..."

Ron said nothing, just sipped his cocoa again.

Harry was saved by Luna returning. He quickly forgot his embarrassment, getting caught up in conversation with her again. And in the process, forgot about what Ron had said.

 

The next day, Mrs. Weasley took the family to Diagon Alley in the family car, so everyone could do Christmas shopping, stopping at Gringott's first so they could get some more money.

Even though he was supposed to be shopping for others, he did find some books at Flourish and Blotts for himself, buying copies of some books about the old ways. He made sure to let the others know he'd done this, in case they were buying him books, so they wouldn't get him the same ones.

At one point, Harry dragged Ron away to go try to find something Luna might like. He'd already gotten her one thing, but thought it wasn't thoughtful enough, so he wanted to get her something else, too. Ron was smirking the whole time but not saying anything, beyond occasional suggestions that Harry kept shooting down. He knew he could have gotten her one of the books about Crumple-horned Snorkacks or whatever, but he felt like he should get Luna something else. After wandering around Diagon Alley for a half an hour, he finally found a place that might have what he was looking for.

Called Wyrd Wyrm Emporium, it was a place full of all kinds of odd-looking artifacts. A quick look around revealed that it was a magical cryptozoology store, with things like billiwig propellers, Specter-Specs, nargle repellant spray, and charms against wrackspurts.

"Yup," said Ron, "this is definitely the place to shop for Luna." He chuckled and started rifling through some of the objects for sale.

"Anything I can help you with, young man?" the proprietor asked Harry.

"I'm looking for something for a friend of mine. Luna Lovegood; do you know her?"

"Ah yes, the Lovegoods, they come in here a lot. Let's see..." he trailed off, looking around.

As he searched, he talked, mainly about what Luna and her father Xenophilius had been into recently, in a way that suggested he was thinking aloud. Harry thought it was a little like Ollivander trying to find him a wand earlier in the year, but more pleasant, as he listened to what the different things were.

Finally, though, they found something that Harry thought Luna would like (and didn't already have). He made sure Ron was out of hearing range before paying, as he didn't want his friend to know how much he was spending on Luna.

"So what'd you get her?"

"You'll find out later."

"Aw, cummon, can't I see now?"

"You'd laugh. Or tease. I'd rather put that off as long as possible."

Ron opened his mouth to object, but then stopped and shrugged. "Yeah, I probably would."

 

On Christmas morning, Ron woke up Harry with a cry of, "Oy, presents!"

Harry put his glasses on and looked around. "Where?"

"Well not here, of course. Under the tree, downstairs."

"Ah yeah, sorry."

When he got downstairs, he was surprised by the tree; it was a living tree, being kept watered, and was still a sapling without being too small. It was surprisingly bushy, too, and was decorated with candles and tinsel and popcorn. Mrs. Weasley noticed his surprise.

"Yes, dear, it's our tradition to plant our tree after it's done its duty inside. Of course, that means we have to keep it in the house until spring, but it sure does make the house smell great during the winter. Really livens up the place."

Harry grinned. He'd never liked the thought of cutting down a whole tree just to decorate its corpse for a single holiday. The Yule Log, on the other hand, was a sacrifice he could approve of, as it was from just a single branch cut from a tree (holly in this case), done with gratitude and apologies to the tree for its sacrifice, and the log was burned for the god of the forests as a fertility symbol, to help ensure spring came on time.

It was the best Yule/Christmas of his life. Surrounded by his surrogate family, with good food, songs, and presents. The presents, oh the presents. He got a chess set from Ron; Mrs. and Mr. Weasley got him a Weasley sweater and some sweets, he got some sugar-free candy from Hermione (since her parents were dentists), and a roughly-carved wooden flute from Hagrid. Luna wasn't there, because she and Harry had already agreed to exchange their presents the next day, since Luna was spending Yule with her father.

 

The next day, Luna came over, and she and Harry exchanged their gifts. Luna got Harry a magical artifact that clipped to the stem of one's glasses and, when you pushed the button, it would send a burst of soothing magic into your head, that Luna thought might be able to prevent at least some of Harry's headaches.

"Thanks a lot, Luna, this sounds awesome." He clipped the thing to his glasses and gave it a try. Of course, he wasn't feeling the need for it, so he didn't get the full effect, but it was doing _something_ that felt good.

Ron and the twins craned their necks around to try to see what Harry had gotten Luna, which was annoying him, so he just told them to come in, which they did. Harry handed two small packages to Luna, and she opened up the first one with slow and deliberate care to not rip the packaging, even though Harry's attempt at wrapping was hardly neat. Very carefully, she took out a hand-held mirror, looking at it curiously.

"It's a two-way mirror. So we can talk to each other, instead of just owling back and forth. It'll be especially useful this winter, as Hedwig doesn't really like being out in the cold."

"Thank you, Harry, it's very thoughtful. I do miss having people to talk to. Ginny's nice, of course, but I miss you. And the more friends, the better."

She placed the mirror gently in a pocket of her trousers, and gently folded the wrapping and placed that in her pocket, too. Ron and the twins gave each other significant looks.

When the wrapping was put away, Luna took the other package and again carefully unwrapped it as though the paper itself was precious. A long golden chain slid out into her hand. Ron and the twins gave each other even more significant looks. Luna beamed, and held out the chain. There was something hanging from it, a glass marble held onto the chain with golden metal.

"It's a charm to repel wrackspurts," Harry explained. "Brand new type, Mr. Dunhaven swears you don't have one yet."

"Oooh, thank you Harry. Mr. Dunhaven was right. Wow," she said, trying to put the necklace on, "this is very thoughtful indeed."

"Here, let me help." Harry helped her with the necklace. As he did so, Ron let out a small snort of laughter, and one of the twins thwapped him on the back of the head for it. Ron glared at the culprit but didn't say anything. Luna beamed at the necklace, and thanked Harry with a hug.

Presents exchanged, Harry and Luna sat on the sofa by the fire together, watching the remains of the Yule log burn as they chatted about this and that.

"Come on, little brother," said Fred to Ron, "let's leave those two alone together. We can play some Quidditch outside together."

Ron looked back at Harry and Luna one last time before following them with a sigh. "I guess so. We might as well be furniture when they're together."

 

In January, everyone returned to Hogwarts with their gifts. Harry refused breakfast on the grounds that he didn't want to puke all over the Knight Bus, so Mrs. Weasley packed him a bagged breakfast. It was unnecessary, as the school would have food, but he nonetheless appreciated it. The Weasleys were what parents/guardians _should_ be like, always putting their kids first, without spoiling them. He had offered, once, to help pay for his keeping, thoughts of the Dursley's complaints about how expensive he was to them bouncing in his head, but they had refused his money, no matter how hard he insisted.

Since it was still technically the holiday, and Harry wanted to take a break from reading, he and Ron spent the afternoon playing wizard chess. Harry had thought that using his own set for this game would have given him an advantage over Ron, since Ron's set was old and knew him well, but Ron remained good at the game even with the slight handicap of Harry's pieces not trusting him. Of course, they didn't trust Harry much either, so it wasn't much of a plan on Harry's part.

Just before dinner, Harry went up to his room and got a surprise when he pulled the covers back. There, on the bed where it had been under his covers, was a silvery package with a note pinned to it. Harry was just unpinning the note when Ron came in and saw it.

"What's that?"

"Dunno. The note says 'Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.' But there's no name signed."

Harry handed the note to Ron so he could read it, too, and picked up the package. What unfolded was a long, silvery swath of cloth that felt like water woven into material.

"Woah," said Ron. "Is that... is that an invisibility cloak?"

Harry put it on, and everything but his head vanished.

"It is! Those are really rare, and really valuable."

"Wow, this used to be my dad's? Hmm..."

After looking at himself in the mirror, to see his disembodied head floating in midair, Harry started to think. He'd never been one to break school rules before, because years of living with the Dursleys meant you didn't break rules unless you were reasonably sure you could get away with it, or if circumstances were dire enough, such as raiding the fridge or pantry at night to hold off starvation. But an invisibility cloak? The possibilities were endless.

He thought about the cloak all through dinner in the Great Hall, and later in bed as he tried to sleep. As Ron snored and the other boys slept, he decided to try out his new cloak that very night. It had been his father's, so he decided to go alone this first time. He could take Ron later if he wanted to, but this time, he was going to go alone.

But where to go, exactly? What could he do at night that he couldn't do during the day? He thought about it, and decided he was curious what was in the Restricted Section of the library. Mere curiosity would not have been enough before, but now... as long as he didn't bump into anything, or make any noise, he would be fine.

A few minutes later, Harry was sneaking through the corridors. It was dark and creepy, but he could see well enough. Before long, he was in the library, and sneaking into the Restricted Section, looking at the old, creepy-looking books, trying to decide which to pick up. Using his wand as a light, he browsed them, but most did not seem to have titles. This was even worse than the usual lack of organization in the library. He ended up picking one at random.

He opened it, and immediately it began to scream. He slammed it closed and rammed it back in place, but it kept screaming. Running, he heard Filch approach, so he slowed down and snuck past the man. A little later, he heard Filch tell Snape that there was a student out of bed, that one of the books in the Restricted Section had been disturbed. So Harry ducked into an empty classroom to hide.

Only, the classroom wasn't empty; it had a huge, antique mirror standing in it, as though put there temporarily until a better place could be found to put it. It had writing on it, but the writing didn't make any sense. He moved closer to get a better look, and nearly jumped out of his skin. He should have been invisible, but the mirror was showing him standing there, and a whole bunch of other people were there as well. He spun around to look behind him, but nobody was there. He felt around, but felt nobody.

_They're not really there, then,_ he worked out. _So what are they?_

Taking a closer look, he saw a man with brown eyes, dark brown skin, and Harry's exact wild, kinky hair. The man also had an older version of Harry's face, but not a lot older. The man couldn't have been more than 25 years old.

_My dad!_ He realized. So that meant the woman... yes, the white woman with red hair had his exact same green eyes. So that had to be his mother. Which meant that all the other people behind _them_ were his other family, from both sides of the family. He kept seeing familiar features, so that seemed right.

_Family,_ he thought. _Real, honest-to-goodness family._ He stared, entranced, for who knew how long before a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He whispered to the mirror that he'd be back, then got back under the cloak, which had slipped off at some point, and began making his way back to the Griffindor dormitories.

 

The next night, he took Ron with him; Ron was excited to see Harry's family. It was a little more difficult with two of them under the cloak, especially with Harry being in a hurry and not knowing for sure where the room had been, but they made it. Making sure the door was closed, they took off the cloak and Harry had Ron look in the mirror.

Only, Ron didn't see the same thing. He instead saw himself as head boy and Quidditch captain, holding the Quidditch cup. This was so different from Harry's vision that Harry stood there, baffled, trying to think why there was a difference. But that thought didn't occupy him long, as it was swiftly supplanted by the desire to look in the mirror at his family again. He was filled with an uncharacteristic anger at Ron; Ron was spending so much time staring at his reflection, and what did it show? Only him being great. He had all the time in the world to be great, but Harry would never get another chance to see his family.

Naturally, they fought over whose turn it was, briefly, before another outside noise alerted them, and they got under the cloak. It was Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat. Worried that she would fetch Filch, as soon as she left they began hurriedly sneaking back to bed.

 

The next day, all Harry could think about was the weird mirror, interrupted only by a bit after classes where he got out the two-way mirror to talk with Luna about the other mirror.

"Hmm," said Luna in her slow, airy voice. "Well I understand wanting to use that mirror again, Harry; if I could see my mother again, that would be lovely. But from what you told me about what Ron saw, I don't think it's actually showing their spirits or anything like that, just using some sort of magic to pull their images from Earth's memory. So what you're seeing, I doubt it's real in the sense of being their souls. I don't know of any way of communicating with the dead. I don't even know if it's possible, Harry."

"Yeah, well, that's not the point. The point is, they're there. I can see them. Which I've never done before."

"Well, you told me Hagrid knew them. Maybe he can ask around among others who knew them and find you some photographs. Wizarding photographs move, you know."

"I did actually know that. But yeah, you've got a point."

"Good, Harry. In the meantime, I'll ask Daddy if he can help find photos of them."

"Thanks, Luna."

"You're very welcome, Harry."

 

Despite his assurances to Luna, however, Harry was once more drawn to the mirror, and that night he rushed into the room, throwing off the cloak so fast he didn't notice Dumbledore in the room with him. So when the old man spoke, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Back again, Harry?"

_Oh shit,_ he thought. _I'm in deep now._

"Um... Professor. Didn't, uh... didn't see you there," he said, lamely.

"Funny how short-sighted being invisible can make you," Dumbledore said. Harry noticed he was smiling, and his eyes were twinkling. Maybe he would get out of this trouble-free after all?

"I see you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised. Have you perchance worked out what it does, yet?"

"Um... well, it shows me my parents."

"And showed your friend Ron as head boy?"

"How did you---?"

"I don't need a cloak to make myself invisible, Harry."

_Well that's disconcerting,_ Harry thought. _He could be anywhere in the castle at any time, with a trick like that up his sleeves._

"Oh," he said simply.

"Do you have any idea at all what it shows us?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, I would give practically anything to have a proper family. And Ron always feels small and insignificant compared to his siblings, so... I suppose that means it shows us our heart's truest desire?"

"Right on the nose, Harry. But what's more, the happiest man alive could look in the mirror and see only himself, exactly as he is."

"Ah, so it shows us our heart's truest, _desperate_ desires. Desires borne out of, like, pain or frustration, and so on?"

"Indeed. But the Mirror of Erised gives us neither truth, nor wisdom. Men have wasted away, dreaming of the things it shows, but never striving to try to achieve them. Or, in cases like yours and--- well, in cases like yours, to overcome them. Dwelling on dreams, and forgetting to live, that is a dangerous road, Harry. Even more dangerous when the dreams you dwell on are impossible in this world."

Harry could only nod silently.

"The mirror will be moved later today, Harry, and I beg you to not go looking for it again. But if you should run into it again later, you will now at least be prepared, and able to understand it."

Harry nodded again, and started putting his invisibility cloak back on. "Sir? Before I go... if you don't mind, what do _you_ see when you look in the mirror?"

A small haunted look briefly crossed the headmaster's face, before returning to normal. "Me? I see myself wearing a pair of great woolen socks. So many people insist on getting me books, but sometimes it is the little things, Harry, that become the most precious, and my feet do tend to get cold at night. Anyway, Harry, you should run along back to bed now."

Harry later pondered Dumbledore's answer. Obviously he had lied, Harry felt silly for even asking; it was an incredibly personal question, and Dumbledore was a very old man. Whatever it was he saw in the mirror was probably pretty embarrassing.

 

 

 

Note: Rowling once made a tweet that said Wicca (and paganism in general by association) was "incompatable" with the wizarding world, which struck me as utter boloney, and offended me as a neo-pagan. So this is me rejecting her reality and substituting my own.

(Hey, a lot of what drives people to write fanfic is the desire to see people like themselves represented, in a world in which most media doesn't like to represent anyone who isn't straight, white, cisgender, Christian, and usually male.)

 

Note 2: Yes, I plan to "ship" Harry/Luna. Those two had far more chemistry together in canon than Harry ever had with Ginny, and Harry/Ginny always felt extremely forced to me.

 


	6. Chapter 7: Quidditch and Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry watches Quidditch and it disagrees with him; Hagrid has a dragon, and they have to get rid of it; Harry makes some unusual friends in Slytherin House.

"Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals"

By = Fayanora

 

Note: Fan fiction, no money being made, no credit being taken for this universe or most of the characters (a few OCs in here), please don't sue.

 

Chapter 7: Quidditch and Dragons

 

~O~

 

Dumbledore had convinced Harry to not go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, but he had a hard time exorcising the desire to see it again from his mind. As Luna suggested, he did go to Hagrid and tell the large man about not having any pictures of his parents; Hagrid promised to look into it as soon as possible. In the mean time, Luna sent him an owl with a couple wizarding photos of his parents that her father had managed to track down for him. Having these comforted him, and helped him get over the mirror faster. Hermione, of course, disapproved of him going out and risking getting in trouble for no good reason, but eased up on him when he promised her he'd gotten meaningless night-time wandering out of his system.

The second game of Quidditch involving Griffindor was coming up. Harry hadn't watched the first match, not being interested and suspecting it might not be good for his head to do so, but so many people were still talking about Griffindor's narrow victory against Slytherin (beating them by only 10 points) that he decided to watch the Griffindor and Hufflepuff match just to see what all the fuss was about. Just before leaving for the match, Harry stuffed his invisibility cloak inside his robes for reasons even he didn't know, and was still trying to puzzle out as he got to the Quidditch stadium with Ron and Hermione. Hermione wasn't terribly interested in Quidditch either, but when Harry had expressed the desire to see what it was like, she had decided to go with them.

As Harry had suspected, the experience was a disaster for him. The noise of all the screaming and booing, and the press of the flesh of all those people stuffed into such a small area, conspired to give him a headache so bad that taking twice the usual dose of headache potion was barely helping. He'd been getting headaches so frequently that he'd finally mastered a simple yet strong headache remedy potion so he could brew his own, and wouldn't have to bother Ms. Pompfrey all the time.

What was worse than the headaches, though, was the panic attack at the danger of it all. His classmates, some of whom were friends, were up there, on both sides (he had been seeking friends in other houses lately), and seeing them all up in the air, with bludgers trying to unseat them, with them swooping around one another and risking life and limb for a stupid pointless sport was too much for him. Every time there was a near miss, his heart felt like he was going to have a coronary, and his stomach twisted into knots. His breathing got rapid and shallow. When he almost fainted and puked over the edge onto the pitch, Hermione got so concerned that she insisted he leave. She also insisted on escorting him off the bleachers.

Once he got off the bleachers, though, he insisted he could make it to the Hospital Wing just fine on his own, and she relented, returning to watch the rest of the game. So he proceeded to wobble in the general direction of the school.

He did not, however, go to the Hospital Wing. He'd experienced panic attacks before, so he had a small bottle of Calming Draught with him, that he downed. He then wobbled over to Hagrid's hut, thinking that spending time with his large friend and his friend's large and harmless dog Fang would be more soothing to him than a hospital bed with a distressed Matron Pompfrey hovering over him.

Knocking on the door, he did not hear Fang's booming bark. Hagrid did not answer the door. Harry sat down on Hagrid's stoop and leaned against the door, feeling the Calming Draught returning him to normal, then to even calmer than normal.

In fact, he was getting sleepy. The adrenaline wearing off artificially must have been the reason, but whatever the reason, Harry's drowsy brain wanted to nap but did not want to get up, and could not abide the sunlight in his eyes, so he pulled out his invisibility cloak and put it over himself, which made no sense, but he wasn't feeling particularly sensible. Despite this having little effect on the sunlight in his eyes, he nodded off anyway, his sleepy brain not having considered the possibility of Hagrid accidentally stepping on him.

Luckily, that didn't happen. What happened instead was a particularly loud bout of cheering from the stadium waking him up just enough and just long enough to register that everyone was flowing out of the stadium and back to the school. He watched this impassively, having no thoughts in his head at all about it, or about anything at all, really.

It was only when he spotted Snape and Quirrell moving toward the Forbidden Forest that he woke up completely, the gears in his brain whirring curiously. This was suspicious, the two men he suspected of trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone both heading off towards the secrecy of the Forbidden Forest together. He hurriedly got up, was momentarily surprised he was covered in the invisibility cloak, then shrugged and followed them, as quietly as he could manage.

Luckily, they did not go far. Even so, he got held up by enough underbrush that he only caught up to them in time to hear part of the conversation. From what he heard of it, Snape was asking Quirrell if he'd found out how to get past Fluffy yet, something about Quirrell's “bit of hocus pocus,” then said "You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell. Let me know when you decide where your loyalties lie." It wasn't much, and wasn't conclusive enough to rule either of them out as suspects, though it did make Snape a little more likely. Harry didn't buy Quirrell's stuttering, given his previous suspicions, but if it was a performance, it was convincing enough to fill Harry with more doubts than he'd previously had. Either Quirrell was innocent, or they were working together. And if they were working together, it sort of looked to Harry like it wasn't necessarily by Quirrell's choice.

Once they stopped talking and left, Harry waited for them to get ahead; it was unlikely they'd say more, and he didn't want to risk them hearing him. He had been lucky so far, but luck could only take one so far.

When he got back to the common room, Ron looked in surprise at him. "Ms. Pompfrey let you out of the hospital wing already? You looked like you were about to die out there, mate!"

"I didn't go to the hospital wing, I took a Calming Draught and leaned against Hagrid's door. But forget that for now," he said, and launched into a furtive explanation of what he'd seen and heard, and how he'd managed it.

"Well, Harry," said Hermione, "that makes it sound like Quirrell is being bullied into working for Snape."

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "Snape could have been working on Quirrell from the start. Could've let the troll in as a diversion, had Quirrell run in as part of it, while Snape went looking for the troll."

"Yeah, and maybe Quirrell _did_ sneak out, like I suspected. Ya know," he waved his hand vaguely, "to help Snape get past Fluffy. And ya know, this makes a lot of sense; I can't see someone like Quirrell doing this on his own, but I can totally see someone as cowardly and weak-willed as he is being bullied into helping Snape."

Hermione, who had been skeptical before, began to look thoughtful, her brown eyes pensive in a way that suggested she was beginning to believe this theory, despite herself.

"Oh wait," said Harry, remembering something. "There was another part of the conversation, Snape said something like 'We'll talk again, when you've had time to decide where your loyalties lie.'"

"Well that sounds like Quirrell's having second thoughts about helping Snape. Which kinda supports the whole 'he's being bullied into helping' theory. Sounds like he's grown enough of a spine to resist Snape a little."

Hermione finally spoke again. "Does that mean the stone is only safe as long as Professor Quirrell stands up to Snape?"

"It'll be gone by Tuesday," Ron said.

 

*

 

Quirrell must have been braver than they thought, however; either that, or they'd been wrong about him standing up to Snape, and was merely having a hard time figuring out how to get past Fluffy. Either way, there was no sign that anyone had gotten past Fluffy, and Quirrell didn't look any different than he usually did. Snape also kept stomping around the castle, looking angry about something. They thought of these as good signs.

One day, Ron walked into the library looking for Harry, and saw his friend talking with an older Slytherin girl at one of the tables. Either a second or third year, the girl was of apparent Indian descent, with long black hair, and she was tall for her age, about 5' 8''. Ron went somewhere he could watch Harry and the girl talking, but couldn't make out what they were saying. The conversation looked friendly, however, which Ron couldn't stand. First Malfoy, now this other Slytherin? Granted, Malfoy and Harry were merely civil, and not exactly friends, but this looked different; Harry was smiling now and then, odd in itself as Harry's default expression always made him look a little annoyed by something.

Finally, Ron couldn't take it anymore, and stepped into view.

"Oh hey Ron, come over here and let me introduce you to Antigone Dreyfuss."

The girl held out her hand for Ron. Ron just stared at it, then looked back at Harry. "She's a Slytherin, Harry."

"So?" said Harry. "Slytherin may be popular with Voldemort supporters and their kids, but that doesn't mean everyone in that House is like that."

Antigone frowned at Ron, and put her hand down. She folded her arms instead. "This must be Ron," she guessed.

Harry sighed. "Yeah, this is Ron Weasley. Ron, this is--"

"I heard her name. So, Antigone, is it? How did you two meet?"

"Here in the library," Antigone answered, surprisingly calmly, despite her gray eyes flashing dangerously. Ron glanced at Harry, who nodded.

"She saw me reading some third-year material, and since she's in the third year and hasn't gotten to that material yet, she was asking me about it."

"Yeah," she agreed, a little more friendly in tone now, "if there's someone smart enough to understand stuff two grades ahead of his own, you can bet that a smart Slytherin is going to want to pick his brain, get a little help ahead of time."

"Makes sense to me. We've met in here several times since November. Sometimes I help her, sometimes she helps me."

Ron bent over and whispered into Harry's ear. "But she's a Slytherin, Harry."

Answering Ron in normal volume, Harry said, "I don't like to judge people based on what others say about them. I had no friends growing up because of the things Dudley said about me."

Ron's ears went red, and he shut up and held his hand out tentatively for Antigone. She took it, and they shook hands.

"Glad to make your acquaintance," Antigone said politely yet without enthusiasm.

"Likewise," Ron responded in kind.

"Anyway," said Antigone, "this talk was fun, Harry, but I have to be going now. I wish I could stay, Ron, and help you see that some Slytherins are good people, but I promised Angela I'd help her on her Charms homework. See you, Harry!"

"See you, Antigone!"

When the Slytherin girl left, Ron sat down. They both noticed Hermione, who had apparently seen Antigone leave this table.

"Was that girl bothering you, Harry?" Hermione asked him.

Harry sighed. "You too? She's a friend, Hermione. I've been making friends in other houses. A few Hufflepuffs, like Justin Finch-Fletchley; a few Ravenclaws, and a couple of Slytherins so far."

"A COUPLE?" Ron said hotly. Ms. Pince glared at him, and he quieted down, whispering at Harry. "A _couple_ of Slytherins? You have more than one Slytherin friend? Is the other one Malfoy?"

"Not yet. He's a tough nut to crack; all I've managed so far is some polite conversation with him. I think he wants to be friends with me, but we have such different beliefs that it's hard for him. But it's like I told Ron earlier, I don't like to take other people's word for what someone is like, having been on the short end of that stick myself most of my childhood."

"Well that's great, Harry," said Hermione. "I completely understand. I didn't have any friends in school, either. I've always been weird to most of them, and I struggled with simple social stuff. It was a lot easier connecting with you, Harry; you must be an aspie too."

"Harry's not a snake, he's a Griff--"

"Not an _asp_ , Ron, an aspie. It's short for Asperger's Syndrome."

Ron stared blankly at her. "What's that mean?"

"Oh goodness, I'm not terribly surprised you don't know. It was Muggle scientists who figured it out, after all."

"Figured _what_ out?"

"Asperger's Syndrome is a..." she pondered her words carefully before continuing, "Well, do you remember I told you animals and plants are made of cells?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Well there are different kinds of cells. Liver cells, skin cells, bladder cells, muscle cells, and brain cells."

"Okay."

"The cells in the brain are a bit like a Muggle computer. Do you--"

"Those boxes that Muggles keep facts in? Some kind of thinking machine?"

"Well, yes. How did you know that?"

"I've been doing some Muggle Studies reading in my spare time. Anyway, go on."

"Okay, well, computers can only think about things they're programmed to think about. But the human brain is like a computer that can learn, and program itself by that learning."

"Okay..."

"And in computers, a major bit of programming is the operating system. It controls how the computer's thoughts interact with humans, how they interact with one another, and is kind of the, well, foundation of the whole computer; the other programs can't function without the right operating system."

"So a program is...?"

"A program is a set of instructions that do a certain task. Computers can do lots of different tasks, after all; they can do maths, or show pictures, or show text, and some programs can display text but can't let you edit the text, and other programs let you write or edit text."

"Wow, that's pretty cool. So... so if our brains are like these computers..." he struggled to think, and it looked difficult. "...then things like, like walking, or talking, or eating, are programs in our brains?"

Hermione nodded. "Exactly."

"Wait, so, given what you said already... are you trying to say you and Harry have different... otterating systems, from other people?"

" _Operating_ systems, but yes. Most people manage to have the same operating system as everyone else, but some people are born different, and their brains program themselves differently, with a slightly different operating system. It's still mostly the same, usually, or we wouldn't be able to understand each other at all, but still different."

"So 'azbee'---"

"'Aspie,' Ron."

Ron giggled. "That sounds like 'ass pee.'"

"Yes, well," Harry took over from Hermione, "'aspie' is short for 'a person with Asperger's Syndrome.'"

Ron stopped giggling, and asked, "Does that explain your headaches? Or is that something else?"

"Actually, you're right Ron. I get overwhelmed by my environment easier than other people, because my brain makes everything more... well, intense. Like, the brain filters out most of what its senses pick up, to avoid being overloaded. But my brain doesn't filter out as much as most brains do. And my emotions are set higher than other people's, too. Which is why I got ill earlier at the Quidditch pitch. I was feeling fear and worry about the friends of mine up in the air in this dangerous game, and the feelings were so overwhelming that I felt like I was dying."

"Of course, panic attacks like that are more of a sign of PTSD than Asperger's," Hemione said. “But intensified emotions would sure make that worse.”

"What's PTSD?"

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," explained Hermione. "People who live through traumatic events, especially as kids, tend to get emotionally damaged by the events; their brains self-programmed under stressful circumstances, and that can make a mess of how people respond to ordinary events."

"Ever seen me take a Calming Draught in Snape's classes before?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, a few times. Why?"

"Because he's an abuser, and I was abused by the Dursleys. A lot of what he does triggers panic attacks and other problems with me, and the Calming Draughts help with those."

"What about the headaches?"

"Well that's more to do with my being an aspie. My brain gets overwhelmed by stimuli like noises and visual stuff, which causes stress, which results in stress headaches. And going somewhere quiet, preferably also dark, helps too. Remove the offending stimulus, and the stress levels begin to go down."

Ron nodded. "I think I get it. And honestly, I'm beginning to get what you mean, my own head feels like it's overflowing right now."

They sat in silence, then, for several minutes while Ron put his head down, trying to sort through everything. He was still working through it when Hermione said, "Hagrid? What are you doing in the library?"

Ron's head shot up to look. Sure enough, Harry and Hermione were talking with Hagrid, who was hemming and hawing about what he was up to, and generally acting very suspicious. Since he was there, Harry and Hermione goaded him with what they knew about the mystery, revealing to him that they knew about the Philosopher's stone. He told them to shut up about it in the library, and to come see him later in his hut, before leaving.

When he left, Hermione got up. "I wonder what he was looking at."

A few minutes later, she came back. "Dragons," she whispered to them. "He was looking up stuff on dragons."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon," Harry said. "He told me once, he's always wanted one, ever since he was a kid."

Ron groaned. "Well he can't. Not legally, anyway. They're illegal to keep as pets. They can't be tamed, and they're too hard to hide, outside of dragon preserves. And even then..." he shrugged. "You should see the burns Charlie gets from the wild ones he works with in Romania."

Harry sighed very deeply, a long-suffering sigh. "Hagrid must have gotten his hands on a dragon, then. And he lives in a wooden house..."

"We'd better go to talk to him, then."

 

When they got to Hagrid's hut an hour later, the windows were covered in drapes, looking suspicious. The inside of the hut was boiling hot, too. They spoke with Hagrid about the stone, a subject he was very reluctant to say anything about despite the fact they already knew about it. They did, however, manage to get a little out of him: there were things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy. He didn't know what they were, which was probably a smart move on Dumbledore's part, but several of the teachers had contributed something to it; Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Snape, and Quirrell had all contributed. They gave one another significant looks, since two different suspects were playing a role in protecting the stone. What's more, Snape had been working at the school for years, and doubtless had some idea what the other teachers might provide. In fact, things they'd overheard sounded like all Snape and Quirrell needed to get the stone was how to get past Fluffy.

"I still don't get why they didn't put up a wall to keep students out of there," Harry said. "We stumbled onto Fluffy, which is how we know about him?"

"WHA?" Hagrid nearly spilled his tea. "Yeh didn' get hurt, did yeh?"

"No. Admittedly, I had to get past a locked door, but that's not terribly secure, given that _alohamora_ worked on it."

"Well yeh didn' go back, did yeh?"

"Of course not. Once was more than enough, seeing a beast like that."

"Hermione and I didn't see it," Ron said. "Glad I didn't. Might still be having nightmares if I had."

"Hagrid," Hermione said, fanning herself with a spell, "why is it so hot in here?"

It turned out, Hagrid was keeping a great black dragon egg in the heart of the fire. Since dragons blew fire on their eggs, he had to keep it hot in order to get it to hatch. Since dragon eggs were illegal, naturally they were curious about how Hagrid got one. He explained that a stranger in The Hog's Head had given it to him, after losing a game of cards to Hagrid. Harry thought that was highly suspicious, but didn't have the energy to really think about it, the heat was so stifling.

 

So now, on top of everything else, they had to worry about Hagrid getting in trouble for keeping a dragon. Harry also found himself annoyed by how slowly plans for his Muggle Academia Club and the possibility of a Wizard Studies Club. Frustrated by his lack of action on these, he asked Hermione about them one day. She had a few ideas for the MAC, and she'd sounded a few people out, but schoolwork and being a mere First Year had slowed her down. She told Harry he might have more luck.

"What about Wizard Studies?"

"Oh darn, I forgot about that entirely."

"Well let's talk to McGonagall later."

That afternoon, after classes but before dinner, they went to McGonagall's classroom and caught her before she left. She let them in, and they told her about their idea. She hadn't realized the need for it, but could see it was a great idea.

"Well Potter, Granger, I'll talk to Dumbledore about it. Knowing him, he'll likely support the idea. Frankly, I'm not sure why he didn't think of it himself. Anyway, it's almost dinner time, so we should get going."

"Thanks, Professor."

Of course, they could just start MAC with three students, but after he was done eating, he got Antigone's attention with a secret hand signal between them that meant 'Let's meet in the library in an hour.' She gave the affirmative symbol, so Harry went on to his other Slytherin friend, Danzia McCullough, with the same signal. After that was done, he went first to the Ravenclaw table to meet with his friends there, then to Hufflepuff, then back to his friends at his own House's table, giving them a similar message.

 

Harry had sent Antigone, Danzia, and Angela to the library, but everyone else to an unused classroom, mainly because he didn't have a hand signal for the unused classroom yet, and he didn't want to burn any bridges by going over to the Slytherin table in front of all these witnesses. Maybe later, but not yet.

He went into the library a little nervously. This would actually be the first time he'd met Angela. Screwing up his courage, he went in, and saw them at once. Antigone was sitting in her usual spot, her brown Indian skin looking great in the library's lighting, sitting next to a raven-haired girl of Asian descent that he assumed (correctly, as it turned out) was Angela.

Of course, he already knew the short, deceptively adorable strawberry-blond second-year Danzia, her blue eyes twinkling with potential mischief. It hadn't taken him long to classify her as being Slytherin House's answer to the Weasley twins, and smart enough to give most Ravenclaws a run for their money.

"Angela," Antigone said, "This is Harry Potter. Harry Potter, this is Angela Whitechapel."

They shook hands and smiled. "It's great to meet you at last, Harry,” she said.

"Great," said Antigone, with an air of eager impatience. "Now we've got that taken care of; you wanna come with, Angela?"

Angela cast her brown eyes down then back up again with a sigh. "Yes, I think I'm ready."

"Great, come on."

As he'd feared, Antigone, Danzia, and Angela were not well received by the collection of mostly Griffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs.

"What the--" Seamus Finnegan exclaimed. "What are you three snakes doing here?"

"Be nice to my friends, Seamus," said Harry, to almost everyone's surprise. Ron looked like he wanted to agree with Seamus, but couldn't see the point of it. Hermione was a little nervous; she'd never met a friendly Slytherin before, let alone three. Most of the Slytherins that deigned to communicate with other Houses were the bullying type. But everyone else was flabbergasted.

"You're friends with a trio of s--Slytherins?"

"Yes, Seamus. Well, technically, I've only just today met Angela, but whatever. Now I know there are a lot of unpleasant people in Slytherin, Antigone and Angela here will agree with you on that, but I didn't have any friends at all before Hogwarts, because of people judging me without bothering to get to know me, so I give everyone the same benefit of the doubt, regardless of House."

"Yeah," Danzia said, "and this whole thing about Slytherin being the only House to churn out dark wizards is just nonsense. And Slytherin House has its share of great and good people."

"Oh yeah?" Seamus asked. "Name one good famous Slytherin."

A smug grin crept onto the strawberry-blonde girl's face before she answered. "Merlin. Merlin was a Slytherin." She then pulled a book out of her bag, called 'Famous Slytherins Through History,' and opened it to the page about Merlin.

Everyone there was astonished, staring in disbelief at the evidence. Everyone but the two Slytherins and Harry, of course.

"Besides which," Harry said, "I was almost in Slytherin. I wouldn't have minded it if I'd gone there. Sure, some of the people there are unpleasant to others, but seeing how everyone treats Slytherins, I've been beginning to wonder how much of that is due to how Slytherins are treated."

The order erupted into a disarray of talking at various volumes, as this was a fact nobody quite knew how to deal with. Even Angela and Danzia looked astonished. Antigone seemed to have been told this already, though.

"Okay, you got us on Merlin," said Justin Finch-Fletchley, "and Harry here's a nice guy; if he almost got put in Slytherin, I'm willing to be open minded." He stood up and held out a hand to Danzia. "I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley. And you?"

She took his hand and shook it. "Danzia Victoria McCullough at your service."

"Charmed," Justin said, sounding genuine. "And you?" he asked Antigone, again offering his hand.

She took it. "Antigone Aconite Dreyfuss. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

He then held his hand out to Angela, who introduced herself as Angela Keiko Whitechapel.

"Oh yeah," said Antigone, "something else to make note of, about Slytherins. I'm a halfblood. My father, also a Slytherin, married a Muggle."

"And I'm Muggleborn," said Angela, "but please don't talk about that outside this group. I'm trying very hard to hide my blood status from the bigots."

Everyone turned to Danzia then. She grinned. "Both of my parents are wizards. I mean that literally; I have two dads, who I call Daddy and Papa. Both are halfbloods, if that means anything."

"Were you adopted?" asked Justin, curiosity writ large on his face.

"No. My biological mother is Papa's sister; I call her Aunt Rose, by her own insistence. Daddy is my biological father."

This was the proverbial straw that broke the back of bigotry; everyone got a lot more friendly to them, once they processed the idea of Slytherins with Muggle heritage.

"Good, now we've gotten that out of the way," Harry said, "we can start the meeting."

The meeting itself, largely to sound out interest in MAC and Wizard Studies, went fairly smoothly, and pretty well. Once Harry and Hermione started explaining some of the things Muggles had figured out, interest went from 'meh' to 'WOW!' Not everyone there thought they could make every meeting, once that was nailed down, especially this late into the school year, but even they were interested.

Naturally, all Harry's Muggleborn friends were deeply interested in Wizard Studies. Those who didn't need such a class volunteered to help out if they had to make it a club, too. And better yet, they all agreed to tell their heads of House about it, to drive up interest.

All in all, Harry was proud of what he'd accomplished that day. Ron was still a little weird about Antigone, Danzia, and Angela, but he had made a lot of progress already, so Harry felt confident he could get Ron to be friendly with his Slytherin friends.

 

It was good that he was making progress with MAC and Wizard Studies, because Hagrid's dragon egg was getting nearer and nearer hatching. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made a pact to not discuss the issue anywhere where anyone else could overhear, and Harry started reading up on spells for privacy. Even though he and Draco were civil to one another, he wasn't sure Draco could resist getting Hagrid in trouble if he found out.

Eventually, the dragon hatched, and their predicament only got worse. Harry talked with Luna on the two-way mirror about it. The stress of everything must have been getting to him, because she remembered something he'd mentioned before, and so was the one to suggest they involve Charlie, Ron's brother who worked with dragons, to get the dragon, whom Hagrid had christened Norbert.

 

He was in the library one day with Angela and Antigone, when Antigone said, "Harry, you look very worried about something. What's going on?"

"What? Oh, sorry. I... I can't talk about it here. Someone might hear, who shouldn't."

"Nonsense," the older girl said, casting several privacy spells. "There. Now nobody will be able to hear us, and they won't be able to read our lips, either; that last spell will blur our mouths."

"Wow. You're going to have to teach me those."

"Yeah, later. For now, what's going on?"

"Well, you know Hagrid, right?"

Antigone nodded enthusiastically. "I love Hagrid, he's awesome. Like a giant teddy bear. So what about him?"

"He... he has a dragon."

Both girls gasped, and tried talking at once, but Harry hushed them. "Yeah, I know, dragons are illegal. That's why I'm worried. He didn't seek it out, but once he got it, he hasn't been able to think about anything else. He's been neglecting his duties. And he's been calling himself it's mummy."

Antigone got an odd look on her face at this point, and quietly said, "Oh that poor dear soul." Then, snapping out of it, the Indian girl continued, "If you need help getting rid of it without Hagrid getting in trouble, let me know. Hagrid is awesome, I want him to stay here always."

"Thanks for the offer, but we have a plan. Somehow, we're going to cart Norbert - that's the dragon - from Hagrid's hut to the top of North Tower in the dead of night, under my invisibility cloak, and Ron's brother Charlie and some of his friends will take it to Romania for us."

"Wow, you have an invisibility cloak? Cool. Anyway, that sounds difficult. It'd be too difficult for me to be there in person, but I can teach you a spell to make the crate float. And silencing wards strong enough to be useful on a dragon. Oh, and the Disillusionment Charm, so you can't be seen if the cloak falls off. It would work on the crate, too."

"Wow, really? That's great! We have three days."

"Well, let's go to the MAC room, then, and get started."

 

Harry was very grateful for Antigone's help. By the last of their three days, Harry was accomplished enough at the charms she'd taught him that all they'd have to worry about was accidentally bumping into something, or maybe Mrs. Norris smelling them. Since Ron would not be happy about a Slytherin knowing about all this, Harry pretended he'd read about the spells.

The afternoon before their trek, the three of them visited Hagrid one last time. He was inconsolable, like a mother having her baby taken away from her.

Hagrid sniffed. "Th-thanks, the three of yeh, fer helpin me out. I shouldn' 've accepted Norbert's egg, I know, an I know I havter do the righ thing, buh tha' don' make it any easier."

"There, there, Hagrid," Harry patted the large man's arm, "he'll be with others of his own kind."

Hagrid burst into great sobs for several minutes. When he calmed down a little, he said, "An', an' as if it weren' bad enough Norbert's leaving, summat's been killin' the unicorns, poor sweet, innocent things. Been neglectin me duties, I'll have ter sort out wha's goin on tomorrah."

"What? Something's killing unicorns?" Ron asked incredulously. "What's fast enough to catch a unicorn?"

"Not much. Nothin tha's s'posed ter be in the forest, anyway." Hagrid began bawling again at that point, and they could get nothing more out of him.

As they walked away from Hagrid's hut and toward dinner, Harry said, "Something's killing unicorns, and it's nothing that should be there?"

"I know that look, Harry," Hermione said. "Please tell me you're not thinking of...” she looked around to see if anyone was in hearing range, “of going out to the forest at night."

"No, of course not," Harry lied. "The forest is no place for students."

"Good. Because there's no point endangering yourself for no good reason, alright?"

"Yes, you're right," Harry said.

 

Thanks to the spells Antigone had taught Harry, the trip from Hagrid's hut to North Tower went smoothly and efficiently. They ran into nobody, not even Mrs. Norris. Charlie and several of his friends on brooms arrived at midnight and carried Norbert off into the night, Charlie finding it weird to talk to a bunch of Disillusioned voices. When he left, they put the cloak on, even though it had largely been superfluous, and got safely back to the Griffindor common room, where they undid the Disillusionment Charm and went to bed.

 

 

 

Note: I have to admit, I've been putting a lot of myself in this Harry. After all, I'm autistic, I was bullied in school, and bullying is a form of abuse, so I know how abused people think. I wasn't abused by family, but I do have personal experience being abused by peers, and that gives me some insight. A lot more insight, apparently, than Rowling does; her Harry's personality doesn't make any sense at all, given the abuse he went through. Which is a large part of what made me decide to write this series.

 

Note #2: I really love the idea of good Slytherins, as my other story may attest to. Look forward to a few more of them popping up eventually; I even plan to have them be part of Dumbledore's Army, eventually. Oh and yes, if you're recognizing some names and traits of some of these Slytherin OCs from "We Are Not Death Eaters," I very much did that on purpose. But don't go thinking you know them; I may well change facts about their history.

 

Note #3: I have a secret in store about Antigone. But it's a secret. Just thought I'd give you a little warning, make you wonder what the secret is. It does not relate to note #2.

 


	7. Chapter 8: Fighting Voldemort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out it's Voldemort who wants the Stone! Harry and his friends keep it out of the Dark Lord's ephemeral hands.

"Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals"

By = Fayanora

 

Chapter 8: Fighting Voldemort

 

Note: Not mine. Fanfiction. No money made. Please do not sue.

 

Note two: My computer ate my first attempt at this chapter. Four or five hours of hard work, with me fully In The Zone, just lost to the aether. So I took that as a sign to go another way with it.

 

~O~

 

Despite the recklessness that his invisibility cloak seemed to inspire in him, and despite how well the Norbert mission went, Harry had second thoughts about going out again after Hagrid. The unicorn thing didn't really seem relevant to the Stone. Sure, it was a little coincidental, but it didn't seem relevant. So he was leaning very hard towards keeping his promise to Hermione.

However, he did talk about it with Antigone, Angela, and Danzia later, when they were working on helping Harry study for the end of year tests. He didn't think much of the conversation, as his mind was not really there, so he didn't notice his three Slytherin friends taking the mystery more seriously than he did.

Later, in their common room with privacy spells up so they could talk safely, the three Slytherin girls discussed the unicorn problem.

"Harry doesn't think it's relevant, of course, but that's a bit of a coincidence," said Antigone. "Unicorn blood has regenerative powers, I've read. Not many would want to risk it, since there's a curse that goes with it, but that's not far removed from the Philosopher's Stone in function."

"Do you think it might be You-Know-Who?"

"That's kind of a leap, Danzia. What makes you think that?"

"Well, his body was never found. Maybe he's really weak, maybe he's dying. Not sure how he's kept alive all these years if I'm right, but what if he's here now, using the unicorn blood until he gets what he really wants?"

She pondered her own words for a moment. "One conversation I had with Harry once, he said Hagrid figures Voldy-whatsit never died, just got really weak. Ever since I heard that, I kind of, well... I've been scared, since then, that he'd come back."

The others stared blankly, so she continued. "And now this whole Stone thing crops up. It's been safe for centuries, hasn't it? And now all of a sudden somebody is trying to steal it? You-Know-Who may be weak, but he's still going to be very knowledgeable. And Quirrell has been a bit stranger than he used to be, since he came back from his trip to wherever he went."

"Do you think he brought You-Know-Who back with him?"

"Let's just say it's something I've worried about recently. And now this whole unicorn thing... the man is a seriously dark wizard, he's probably not going to care about killing unicorns and drinking their blood, curse or no curse."

"I still think you guys are reaching. But, well... if there's any chance at all of a connection, maybe we should check it out."

 

The next night Antigone, Angela, and Danzia Disillusioned themselves and snuck out of the castle into the darkness towards Hagrid's hut. Luckily, he was there, crossbow in hand, so they followed him, silencing themselves as they went so Hagrid wouldn't hear them. It was difficult, not being able to see where they were going, since the moonlight was mostly obscured by the thick forest top-growth, but they managed. Fang, Hagrid's dog, kept looking back at them, and they silently berated themselves for not thinking about the dog.

They'd been out there for who knew how long before Hagrid stopped dead. They just narrowly avoided running into him, but somebody behind them ran into them, and they screamed. Hagrid spun around, aiming his crossbow in their direction. They ran, not having time to undo the spell.

"Harry, what're yeh doin out here?" Hagrid boomed, stopping them. They turned around, and sure enough there was Harry, his cloak falling off of him. He hemmed and hawed, then finally confessed that he had decided to see if the unicorn thing was relevant.

Antigone put a silencing ward up quickly. "Wish he'd told us he was going to go anyway."

"Was that you I ran into, Hagrid?"

"What? No, yeh didn' run inter me, Harry. Was that you screamin?"

"No. Sounded like some girls."

"Does that mean someone else is out here? Yeh don't think they have summat to do with this, do yeh?"

Antigone pulled her friends forward, undoing the Disillusionments. Hagrid and Harry both jumped.

Hagrid's eyes narrowed. "Bunch o' Slytherins out in the forest at night? What're yeh doin out here? You the ones killin the unicorns?"

"Relax, Hagrid, it's my friends. Remember? Antigone, Angela, and Danzia."

Hagrid squinted more, and Harry turned his wandlight on them. "Oh yeah," Hagrid said. "Hi there, Antigone. Blimey, I feel right foolish. Ain't seen you two yet, but Antigone an I go back a couple years. Anyway, you lot still ain't supposed to be out here. But it'd take too long ter get back now. Might as well come with me. I can keep yeh safe."

They did as he commanded, and helped him look. He showed them the unicorn blood, a bit like sticky mercury, but lighter, and they followed the path of the dying unicorn.

However, at one point the remaining unicorns stampeded between the kids and Hagrid, and they got so lost in the mass of panicking animals that they couldn't find Hagrid again. Not thinking terribly straight, Harry and his friends wandered off looking for the path of the wounded unicorn again, in hopes Hagrid would find them that way.

What they saw at the end of the path, however, made them go stock still. There was the unicorn, dead; something horrible, like a living cloak, bent over the unicorn, drinking its blood. The thing then looked up at them. Harry's scar began to burn like a red-hot poker was being held to it, and a headache unlike any other made him fall over in a daze.

"Harry, get up! That thing is coming this way!"

They were still struggling to get Harry back up when something jumped over the three of them; it was a beautiful albino centaur, nearly as white as the unicorn. The centaur reared, and the slithering cloak creature fled.

With the danger passed, the centaur approached them. "Harry Potter, you and your friends should not be out here. It is especially dangerous for you, Mister Potter."

"Thank you for saving me..." he trailed off, not knowing their savior's name.

"My name is Firenze. Come, you three; climb on my back. I will take you to safety."

The three of them climbed on Firenze's back and he trotted off.

"What was that thing you saved me from?"

Firenze opened his mouth to speak, but Danzia beat him to it. "Voldemort! That was Voldemort!"

"Wow," said Harry. "You said his name. I thought I was the only one who did that."

"Well, normally I don't, but I didn't want there to be any doubt."

As they rode to safety, Danzia explained why she thought it was Voldemort, and Firenze nodded.

"By the way," asked Antigone when Danzia had finished. "What pronouns should I use for you, Firenze?"

"Wow. Thank you very much for asking, instead of assuming. My people are almost always misgendered as male, given our anatomy and human assumptions. Especially vexing, as we do not understand this concept of 'gender.' It does not apply to us anyway; it is not possible to tell from looking at us which of us can bear foals."

"Oh. Really? So how do you... if it's not too personal a question... um..."

"That," Firenze explained, "is indeed personal. It is of nobody's concern unless two or more of us wish to produce foals. Those of us who can bear foals know who we are."

"Sorry," she said, embarrassed. "If it helps make up for it at all, I, uh... I rejected the gender assigned me at birth. With the aid of magic, I have come to fit my preferred gender."

"That was not necessary, but I appreciate the gesture all the same."

"So what pronouns should I use?"

"Use the feminine pronouns for me today, if you would. If we meet again, it may change."

Two more centaurs appeared in the forest ahead of them, looking angry. One had a chestnut body below the waist, the skin tone above the waist matching the fur perfectly. Though the beard and the hair atop the head were bright red. The other one was practically coal black all the way through, though that one's head hair and beard were even darker. The two centaurs were in such a temper over Firenze carrying them on her back that they didn't attempt to find out pronouns. They just quietly slipped off and watched the row.

Luckily, Hagrid showed up then. "Gallopin gargoyles, there yeh are. Come on, back to the castle with yeh. Get invisible, too. Sorry for the problem, Bane, Ronan, and Firenze. We'll be going."

"Yes," said Ronan. "Human foals should stay in the castle where they belong."

As they got out of range of the centaurs, Hagrid said, "Don't worry yerselves none about the centaurs; they'd never hurt foals--I mean kids."

"Hagrid, the unicorn is dead. Something was drinking its blood."

"It was You-Know-Who," exclaimed Danzia. “He's still alive, after a fashion. Barely alive, but still alive."

Hagrid turned white. "Well I hope this'll be a lesson to yeh, not to go out at night. Come on, we're almost there."

Under his cloak, Harry made it back to his dormitory. The girls, under their Disillusionment Charms, made it safely to theirs, too.

 

The next day, the six friends got together so Harry and the three Slytherin girls could relate the previous night's events to Ron and Hermione. Those who had seen Voldemort were terrified, trying to argue to the others that something needed to be done post-haste. Finally, they agreed that telling anyone yet was premature; Fluffy was still where he was supposed to be, awake and guarding his trapdoor (Harry had checked on his way back the night before).

With the stress of Voldemort possibly returning, Harry and the three Slytherin girls had a hard time focusing on the end-of-year tests. All that got them through it was checking every now and then on Fluffy. Quirrell and Snape remained unchanged, too, which helped.

Only after the last test was over did something finally clunk into place for Harry. In a hurry, he ran to Hagrid's, dragging Ron, Hermione, and Antigone behind him.

"What's the matter, Harry?"

"I just realized something. Who carries dragon eggs around with them if they're illegal? Isn't it odd that Hagrid's dream was to have a dragon, and a stranger comes by who just happens to have an egg?"

"Shit," said Antigone. "Now you mention that, it is pretty odd."

"Hagrid," Harry said, having nearly run into him right outside the hut's door, "the stranger who gave you the dragon egg, what did he look like?"

"No idea. Kept his hood up. Well," he said when they looked flabbergasted, "it's not unusual in The Hog's Head. Bit of a fashion, really."

They gently interrogated him some more, and it turned out that the stranger had gotten Hagrid drunk and coaxed the secret to getting past Fluffy out of him; play Fluffy music, and he goes right to sleep. As Hagrid was berating himself for telling them that, they were running off back toward the school.

"Harry, Harry, wait," Antigone begged. "Slow down!"

"I can't, Voldemo--"

"Listen, Harry, think about it, how long ago did Hagrid get Norbert? Weeks ago, right? So in all that time, the stone's still been safe."

"Well yeah," Danzia said. "But Dumbledore's been here this whole time. Knowing how to get past Fluffy is easy compared to how to get past Dumbledore, and You-Know-Who feared Dumbledore, even when he was fully powered."

"So you reckon that stone's still safe?" Ron asked. "You don't think he could have taken it out from under Dumbledore's nose?"

"No. Dumbledore always seems to know what's going on. There've been little clues in the last few years, that he knows pretty much everything going on in the school."

"Might have something to do with not needing a cloak to be invisible."

"Yeah, I guess that would tend to help. That and an air of mystery. Anyway, we should talk to him, tell him what we know."

They tried to tell Dumbledore, but McGonagall waylaid them, and they found out that Dumbledore had been called away on Ministry business. This panicked them into revealing what they knew, which shocked McGonagall. She assurred them the stone was safe, and told them to go outside.

Of course, they didn't. They tried going to the third floor corridor, but McGonagall had headed them off, and threatened them with detention if they came back, so they left for the MAC classroom, where they agreed they had to meet later, after everyone had gone to bed; McGonagall wasn't going to stop guarding that corridor until all students were in bed.

 

That night, they set out very carefully, and met at Fluffy's door.

"Oh, you have a flute!" Angela quietly exclaimed. "I can play that."

With Angela playing the flute, the rest of them moved Fluffy's massive paw from the trapdoor and opened it. One by one they jumped down into the unknown, followed at last by Angela.

They landed on something soft, something that began to try to strangle them at once. "Devil's Snare!" Hermione and Antigone exclaimed at once. "I'll start a fire," said Antigone.

"But there isn't any wood!"

Antigone cast fire before anyone could respond to that, and the plant let them slip onto the stone floor underneath.

"No wood?" teased Ron. "Honestly..."

From there, they went into a new room, filled with hundreds of glittery birds. They walked to the other door and tried it, but it was locked. Alohamora didn't work on it, and neither did a Reductor curse from Antigone.

"You're not the only one ahead of your years, Harry, Hermione," she said. "Pity it didn't work."

"Hey you lot," Ron called. "I found six brooms. Dunno why."

Harry squinted at the 'birds.' "Because those aren't birds, they're keys."

"Oh. Well in that case, we'll need a rusty, old fashioned key, like the handle."

"There!" Harry pointed.

"Where?"

"There!"

"Harry, you have some really keen eyesight for someone who needs glasses."

They all climbed on the brooms, and spent several minutes trying to corner the key. Only the fact that it was wounded let them catch up to it in the end, wounding it more by pinning it to the wall. Then they flew back down and unlocked the door, tossing the key back as they left.

"That must have been Flitwick's," Danzia said. "First was Sprout's, of course. Unless Fluffy was the first? Anyway... what's this now?"

It was a giant chess set, with human-sized chess pieces made of stone, transfigured to be alive. They stood there, looking bored, until the six kids came in, at which point the pieces looked at them with interest.

"Oh shit," Ron said. "Yeah, I can do wizard's chess, but there's six of us. Dunno if I can protect all of you from harm. No idea how these guys will treat us."

Angela sighed. "Well, in that case, I can go back and use one of those brooms to see if I can go get Dumbledore."

"You giving up already?" Antigone asked.

Angela shrugged. "If I have to."

"No, no need for that yet." Ron stood there looking at the board, and then looking at his friends. "Harry needs to go. I need to be on the board, too. I think Hermione and Antigone can be on it too. Sorry, Danzia."

Danzia shrugged. "I'll live."

Harry took the place of a bishop, Antigone and Hermione took the rooks, and Ron was a knight, by Ron's decision. When they were in place, the others going back to the key room, the game began when white moved. Ron tested a hypothesis, and deliberately put a pawn in danger. The other pawn violently wrestled his pawn off the board and knocked it unconscious before returning to position.

"Well that answers that question," Ron said.

The next half hour (or was it an hour? It was hard to tell) was very tense, as Ron worked to win the giant chess game without endangering his friends. Somehow, he managed it, at least until the end.

"Yes," Ron said softly. "It's the only way. I've got to be taken."

"What?"

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Antigone. "He's going to sacrifice himself."

"No, you can't!" cried Hermione.

"There's no other way! Do you want to stop You-Know-Who getting the Stone or not?"

Hermione went quiet then.

"Good. Now, here I go," he said.

He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced, dragging him away and knocking him out before returning to the right spot. At this, Harry went where Ron had told him, and checkmated the white king, who threw down his crown in defeat.

"Antigone, can you take Ron back to the key room with Danzia and Angela?" asked Harry.

"Sure thing, mate." The older girl was tall enough and, apparently, strong enough that she hoisted Ron up in a fireman's carry and hauled him back to the key room. When she came back, with assurances that the other two were taking care of Ron, the three of them continued on.

On the other side, they found a great stench and an even greater troll, already knocked out. They were all glad of that; they'd never fought a troll before, and had no idea what one had to do. So they continued on.

As soon as they crossed into the second-to-last room, purple fire rose up behind them, blocking their exit. The way forward was also blocked, but by black fire.

"Snape's," Harry said, pointing out the bottles. There was a rhyming riddle in a scroll there, too. The three of them read the riddle aloud. It basically said that three bottles were poison, one bottle would get you forward, and another would let you go back. The rest were harmless but useless.

"Don't look at me," Harry said. "I suck at riddles."

"Alright, we'll figure it out." The two girls proceeded to talk it out between them. Before long, they had it figured out: the smallest bottle let them go forward. Only...

"There's only enough for one. Harry, it'll have to be you."

"Wait, hold up," said Antigone. "Why him? If Moldywart is back there, the pain in Harry's scar is going to render him useless."

"Yeah, but I beat him once before."

"When you were a baby! And nobody knows how that happened!"

"Maybe I'll get lucky again. Maybe I've got some kind of protection against him?"

"You don't know that! And besides, I'm older than you."

"And we both know that if we were the same age, I'd far outstrip you in ability anyway. And that's almost true now."

"So?"

"Listen, Antigone, I get what you're trying to do. You're worried about me, I know. Ideally, all three of us would go in there, but we can't. I'm the one with some weird connection with Voldemort. If nothing else, maybe the fact that he failed to kill me will buy me some time. Anyway, we don't have time to argue about it!"

Antigone slumped. "Fine. Hermione and I will go back to the chess room and keep watch, make sure Moldy doesn't get out. Or try, anyway."

"No, you two go find the others. Get Ron to the hospital wing, and contact Dumbledore, tell him what's going on. Gah! I can't believe I forgot to do that before!"

"Fine, fine," she said, and the two girls took the potion for going back. Harry took the one to go forward, and they parted ways. Harry paused a moment, then Disillusioned himself before he stepped through the black flames, his wand out, and saw... Quirrell. No Snape, just Quirrell.

The man was examining the Mirror of Erised in frustration, trying to figure out how to get the stone out of it, and hadn't noticed Harry come in. (It helped that Harry was Disillusioned.) But _someone_ knew he was there, because a horrible voice, weak but terrifying, said, "The boy is in this room, Quirrell. He is Disillusioned."

Harry crept about stealthily, drawing on his experience stealing food at the Dursley's to be quiet as possible. Quirrell had turned around to face the exit, his wand out, looking around in confusion.

"To your right, fool!" the horrible voice said.

" _Incarcerous_ ," Quirrell shouted, Harry ducking the ropes, but making enough sound in the process that Quirrell tried again, and got Harry's left hand, rendering the Disillusionment Charm moot. Trying to run and sever the ropes at the same time earned Harry a cut arm, giving the man another means by which to track him.

" _Incarcerous_ \--"

" _Protego_!" The ropes from Quirrell's wand bounced off his shield charm.

"You are very clever, Harry," the horrible voice said. "But not clever enough! I will subdue you, and you will help me, or you will die!"

"Never!" He shot a Jelly-Legs Jinx at Quirrell, then _Expelliarmus_ , successfully disarming Quirrell, the man's wand flying into Harry's hand.

"ENOUGH!" the horrible voice screeched in anger, and pain flooded through Harry's scar. He downed a pain-relief potion quickly, which helped, and used _Incarcerous_ and a stunner on Quirrell.

"I'm familiar with pain, Voldemort! It's not going to stop me!"

"Pain? I have not caused you any pain yet, boy, but rest assurred, I will."

Somehow, the ropes around Quirrell came undone, and the man stood up and lunged at Harry. Harry ducked, wondering how they knew where he was, but it wasn't enough; he was caught, the wands wrested from his hands, and was soon tied up, the Disillusionment Charm broken, and Quirrell dragged him over to the mirror.

"Tell me what you see!" demanded Quirrell.

Harry looked at the Mirror, against his better judgment. He saw his reflection wink at him and drop the Stone in his pocket. Then he felt the lump of the stone there.

"I refuse to cooperate. I'll die before I let you get the Stone!"

"He knows!" the horrid voice of Voldemort said. "He knows!"

"Give it to me, Potter!"

"Go to Hell!"

"Let me face him."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough for this."

Quirrell unbound Harry. Without his wand, Harry was helpless. He watched as Quirrell unwrapped his purple turban, exposing a second face jutting out of the back of the man's head. He felt like he was going to be sick.

"You see what I've become? Living off another to survive. Unicorn blood has sustained me, but I need the Stone to rebuild my body. Give it to me, and I will reward you greatly, Harry."

"You killed my parents! You tried to kill me, when I was just a baby. I'll never join you! Go to Hell!"

"GET HIM!"

Quirrell turned around and leapt forward, grabbing Harry. Without a wand, he was terrified about his prospects. Acting on instinct, he grabbed Quirrell's arm, trying to force it away. The skin on Quirrell's arm began to burn and bubble, causing the man pain; he let go of Harry and stared in disbelief and agony at his arms.

"What... what is this magic?"

"FOOL! GET THE STONE!!!"

Goaded on by his master, Quirrell tried again. Harry grabbed the man's face, and the same burning happened there. Quirrell could not touch him without burning. Harry grabbed the man's throat, and the burning spread there as well. Quirrell lay there gagging, dying, and as he did, Voldemort - little more than a ghost - came out of him. This Harry witnessed as the exhaustion took hold and he passed out.

 

He woke up later, a glint of gold over him. Someone had put his glasses on him, so he was able to make out the source of the gold, as the spectacles of Albus Dumbledore.

"Sir! The Stone, it was Quirrell! He might have it!"

"Relax, dear boy. Quirrell does not have the stone. He does not, in fact, even have his life anymore. He died a little bit ago. The Stone is safe."

"But who has it? Where---"

"Hush, please, before Madam Pompfrey kicks me out. The stone has been destroyed."

"Destroyed? But your friend Nicolas---"

"Ah, you know about Nicolas. Good. Harry, he and I discussed things, and we decided it was for the best that the stone was destroyed. Besides which, Nicolas and his wife have been alive so very long that they've grown tired of living. But they have enough elixir to set their affairs in order before they pass on."

"What?"

"Yes, I know. It may seem incredible to one so young, but to those of us who are old, life grows tiresome eventually. Everything is still so very new for you, but after decades of life, things like eating several times a day can get dull."

Harry nodded. He and Dumbledore discussed a lot of other things after that, but Harry's attention got more and more distracted the longer they talked. He was distracted by something. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore, and spoke.

"Sir? What about this summer? What are we doing this summer?"

Dumbledore looked suddenly grave. "I'm glad you mentioned that, Harry. I never got a chance, before, to personally apologize to you for how you grew up. I really am very sorry about all that, I thought I had a better estimation of your aunt and uncle's personalities than that. I was absolutely astonished and horrified to hear about what you've gone through."

Harry nodded mutely.

"Anyway, Harry... that issue is a little... complicated. You see, when your mother died, she left you the protection that you used against Quirrell, and that protection was strengthened when I tied it to certain ancient magics. In short, as long as you can call the place where your mother's blood relatives live home - in this case the Dursley's house, since you have no other blood relatives - the protection remains. You have to spend only a few weeks a year there to keep the protection going, but if you don't... then the protection goes away."

"I see."

"That said, it is your choice whether or not to go back. But, because I feel the blood protection is necessary, I can offer you something that will make your stay with the Dursleys bearable. Obviously, they cannot be allowed to mistreat you or neglect you again."

"What is it you're offering?"

"I am offering to cast a number of spells on your family and their house, to ensure they cannot hurt you. One spell can grab them and prevent them from hitting you. Another can tie their tongues if they attempt to emotionally abuse you. And..." Dumbledore smiled. "I pulled a few strings at the ministry to let one of the school's house elves stay with you while you're there." He coughed once, then said in a commanding tone, "Netty."

A tiny, humanoid creature with giant floppy ears and eyes the size of dinnerplates appeared on the bed in front of Harry, making him jump. He'd never seen a house elf before; he tried not to stare, as he didn't want to be impolite.

"Harry, this is Netty the Hogwarts school house elf. She works in the kitchens here. If you accept my offer, she will be a sort of bodyguard for you at the Dursleys, and will ensure you get enough to eat, and that you are treated with civility."

Looking at the creature, who was wearing a tea towel as a toga, he had to suppress a giggle at the thought of how Aunt Petunia would react to this.

"So, what do you think of the offer?"

Harry smiled. "Well... I'd much rather not have to go there, but you're right; that blood protection saved my life, it might do so again. And I really want to see Aunt Petunia's reaction to Netty. I accept your offer."

"Good. Then I will meet you at the train station, and escort you to the Dursley house, where I will inform them of what I will be doing, and introduce Netty to them."

Harry laughed aloud at this. "Thanks."

"But first, formal introductions are in order. Netty, this is Harry Potter. He is the boy we discussed earlier, that you will be helping, if you are amenable to it."

In a squeaky little voice that he knew would grate on Petunia's nerves, Netty said, "Oh my, the famous Harry Potter! Netty is most honored to be helping the one who is defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, she is indeed! Of course Netty will help Harry Potter, Professor Dumbledore sir! And Netty will gladly keeps your secrets and her silence as well, Harry Potter sir!"

"Nice to meet you, Netty," Harry said, holding out his hand for her to shake.

"Oh my! Harry Potter is treating house elves as equals? You is even greater than they is saying, Harry Potter sir!" She shook his hand excitedly.

_This summer is going to be fun,_ Harry thought to himself.

"Well, Harry, I think that's all for now. Anyway, I'm sure you'll want to see your friends. As you can see, they have left you many tokens of their admiration. Netty, you may return to the kitchens for now, or pack any belongings you may require. We shall call you later when we've explained things to his family."

"Righty-o, Professor Dumbledore sir!" Netty said, disappearing with a small pop.

"Wait, sir, before you go, I have one more thing to ask."

"And what would that be, my dear boy?"

"You said rumors are flying about what happened down there. Are you planning on telling the school anything about it?"

"Well, I was planning on a little something, yes. You stopped Voldemort from returning; that's something worthy of recognition."

"Could you... could you not? Or, or downplay it or something? I don't like a fuss being made over me. I don't think I could handle the whole school like, cheering for me or something. The very thought is giving me some anxiety."

"Well I can't guarantee you anything, Harry; I have to put the rumors to bed somehow. And you wouldn't be the sole recipient of acclaim anyway. Six of your friends were involved, too."

"Six? But only five of my friends were down there with me."

"You're forgetting Neville Longbottom."

"Neville? He tried to stop us."

"It took a lot of bravery to stand up to his friends, Harry. He felt you were endangering Griffindor's good standing, it took a lot for him to defy you."

"I... suppose. Well, just..."

"Don't worry, Harry. I think you'll like my speech."

Harry nodded, still thinking. When his friends came into the room after Dumbledore left, he smiled. He smiled even more on noticing that Ron was being almost as friendly with Angela, Antigone, and Danzia as he was with Hermione and himself.

They discussed the events as much as they could before the matron demanded Harry needed more rest. Before they left, he asked Ron to retrieve something for him from his trunk. A few minutes later, Ron returned with the two-way mirror, and Harry began to tell Luna what had happened; she was grateful for this... she'd heard somewhere that Harry was in the hospital wing, but hadn't been able to come out to visit him.

 

Later that evening, Harry got to go to the leaving feast; apparently Dumbledore had requested he be allowed to attend. When they'd all eaten, Dumbledore stood up and got their attention.

"It is now time to announce the winner of the inter-house championship." He read off the points, and it turned out there was a tie between Griffindor and Slytherin. There was a lot of cheering, and also a lot of booing, at this.

"Well done to both Houses, well done. Of course, we must break the tie somehow, mustn't we? Or must we?"

The cheering and booing turned to mutterings, at this point.

Dumbledore sighed. "In my day, the four Houses were friends, and the rivalry was friendly. But ever since Voldemort came to be a student here in Hogwarts - yes, he was a student here once - ever since he came here, the Houses have been more divided than ever. Largely it is Griffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw against Slytherin, but there's not as much inter-House unity among the other three Houses as there should be, either. And so we find this competition has become... not as friendly as it should be."

Harry sat up straighter, wondering where Dumbledore was going with this.

"It is only fitting, therefore, that the boy who somehow survived Voldemort's killing curse should start healing that wound, bridging that divide. For young Harry Potter has, this year, done something that few others outside of Slytherin House have done since Voldemort poisoned this school with his influence: Harry made friends among the Slytherin students."

There was briefly a great uproar over this, before Dumbledore got the room to order with loud crackers from his wand.

"Thank you. Yes, young Harry Potter saw something that few if any of the rest of you seemed to see; that there are those in Slytherin who are good, honest, hard working people. Being in Slytherin does not make you evil, and Harry saw this. It is about time more of you saw this, too.

"I must also address the rumors of what happened between Harry and Professor Quirrell. This, here, is the truth: that the Philosopher's Stone, capable of giving the user immortality, was kept away from the hands of a greatly weakened, barely alive Voldemort, by Harry Potter and five of his friends. Three of whom are Slytherins."

Dumbledore waited a few minutes this time for the uproar to die down before continuing, pausing every now and then for the inevitable cheering."Griffindor student Ron Weasley defeated Professor McGonagall's giant chess set to help Harry beat Quirrell to the Stone. Griffindor Hermione Granger used logic to solve a puzzle toward the same end. Slytherin student Antigone Dreyfuss got them past the Devil's Snare and got help when it was needed, along with Slytherin student Danzia McCullough, and those two girls taught Harry and the others spells that helped them out, and helped Harry evade Quirrell long enough to stay alive.

"Also, Slytherin student Angela Whitechapel got them past the giant cerberus guarding the labyrinth's entrance, with some very nice flute playing.

"But we should also not overlook Neville Longbottom. Not knowing what was going on, and fearing they would get Griffindor into trouble, Neville stood up to his friends... a far greater challenge than standing up to your enemies."

Neville looked stunned. He'd rarely been praised for anything, and now the whole school was cheering him.

"It falls to the headmaster, when there is a tie, to break that tie. But, I have made another decision. I am letting the tie stand; Griffindor and Slytherin will both share in the win, this year, for their show of inter-House unity. And all of the students I have named in this speech will be rewarded with awards for Special Services to the School."

He clapped his hands, and suddenly there appeared hangings of both Griffindor and Slytherin. This was met with... well, there was some cheering, but mostly bewilderment, and talk of how weird Dumbledore was. But most did seem to get the point that he'd been trying to make. How well that point would stick, time would only tell.

 

As they boarded the train the next day for home, Hagrid stopped to give him a present; the photo album he had promised Harry. Harry, tears in his eyes, thanked Hagrid and hugged him before boarding.

Harry and his friends all got a compartment together, and Harry was glad to see that Ron was treating the three Slytherins no differently than he did Harry or Hermione. Closing the door, Harry began to tell them all about Dumbledore's plan for the Dursleys, which had everyone cracking up, stitches in their sides from laughing so hard.

"The best part," Harry said, "is that the Dursleys don't know I'm not allowed to use magic out of school!"

Harry was right, this was going to be a great summer.

 

End of book 1.

 

Note: Because the numbering system got so messed up, I am going to be posting the second book of this series as its own story, so it will have proper numbering. Stay tuned for a link, here, to the second book.

 

Note 2: Please leave feedback, I welcome your feedback! :-)

 


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